Vengeance Will Be Mine
by Hahukum Konn
Summary: PostHBP, AU to Deathly Hallows dark!Harry. Harry Potter decides to track down and get rid of some Death Eaters. Rating may go to M depending on future subject material.
1. Chapter 1

**Vengeance Will Be Mine**  
Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Harry Potter was on the train back from Hogwarts, lost in thought as his mind spun its wheels, the same thoughts running through it over and over again while Ron and Hermione attempted to make conversation, only to be rewarded with small grunts.

Dumbledore's death.

Snape.

Malfoy.

Lestrange.

Other Death Eaters who had hurt his friends and attacked the one place he had always called home, even more so than that pitiful excuse for a home called Number Four Privet Drive.

He remembered the hour or so after Dumbledore's funeral.

Under the pretence of having forgotten something in Gryffindor Tower, he had made a mad dash for the Room of Requirement, scrambling to find that Potions textbook that had previously belonged to Snape; along the way, he noticed a very familiar Vanishing Cabinet. He remembered with sudden fury how Draco Malfoy had managed to slip something like that right under everybody's noses, and Harry whipped out his wand, snarling, "_Reducto!_"

Smirking at the smithereens peppering the area, he thought, _see if you can repair _that_, you little traitorous bastard._

With just a few moments' more searching, the bespectacled teenager had found the book in question, and before long had secreted it among his belongings in his trunk. He then waited with his friends for the train home.

Harry then remembered the bloody Horcruxes. Merlin, what sick bastard would make not just one, but _six_ of them? Remembering the diary and his discussions with Dumbledore, he was suddenly jolted by a horrific thought – what if Voldemort moved his Horcruxes, or increased the protections on them? After all, he had apparently been very angry with Lucius Malfoy over _that_ little titbit of information about how careless he had been with the diary.

And certainly, if Hogwarts leaked like a sieve when it came to owl post (as evidenced by the way the Weasley twins managed to sneak love potions into the school), then it was almost certain that a Slytherin, or even a non-Slytherin pureblood with an interest in wizarding artefacts, would have remarked on Dumbledore's injured hand and the nature of the ring on his hand. All it would take would be a casual letter home from a student to a Death Eater parent or relative, and that could only mean that Voldemort might put two and two together and realise Dumbledore had got another Horcrux and destroyed it.

Not good.

Not good at all.

And on top of that, he had had his arse handed to him by that bastard Snape. If he was to be honest with himself, he had to admit that being crap at Occlumency and equally crap at nonverbal casting would get him killed in short order. Lying to oneself about one's capabilities was a job for Draco Malfoy.

After all, Mister Little Death Eater Wannabe only found out he was not psychologically prepared to use the Killing Curse on another human being when it came down to the wire and he couldn't go through with it.

Bad form, that.

But his vitriol was saved for Severus Snape, and that day, Harry swore that he would find a way to rip the man into many, _many_ little pieces.

From such decisions, the pathway to darkness emerges, and Harry Potter was about to begin walking it.

- - -

At King's Cross, Harry made another decision.

He said to Ron and Hermione, "Look, I appreciate you guys coming out here with me, but I need to ask you to wait until I get back to Privet Drive before you come barging in with me. I need to get things sorted out with my relatives first; I _may_ be able to convince them to leave me alone, but I won't be able to do it with Dudley eyeing you up, Hermione, or being scared of you, Ron."

The bushy-haired witch's indignant cry of "_Men!_" was almost lost amidst the confused statement uttered by the redhead.

"But, Harry, I don't get it. It's not like I'll ask to use their fellytone or something."

_Right,_ the other boy remembered. His best friend had not seen what happened that year when Dudley ate the Ton-Tongue Toffee.

"You look a lot like your twin brothers, Ron. They played a rather mean prank on Dudley and it took your Dad forever to convince Uncle Vernon to let him reverse the prank. I won't be able to get a thing done when Aunt Petunia will be busy comforting 'her little Dudders'."

The trio laughed at his imitation of his aunt's unbelievable tendency to coddle his cousin, even at the age of sixteen and seventeen.

"And besides, Dudley's a pig, figuratively and literally. He talked about girls last summer like they were… I don't know, just toys to be played with or something."

_With any luck,_ Harry thought, _maybe Cousin Duddy Dinkydums won't _be_ at the house most of the summer._

It took a bit more arguing for him to convince his friends to come over the next day, but finally they acquiesced and the former went with Ron to greet Mrs Weasley, who enveloped him in a nearly bone-crushing hug before admonishing him "to come to the Burrow as soon as you possibly can!"

He then exited the wall hiding Platform Nine and Three-Quarters from the Muggle world, and politely greeted the Grangers, then waved good-bye to Hermione. He resignedly noted Uncle Vernon waiting impatiently by his car, and stonily, he put his things in the boot and said not a word to the man as he drove them to the Dursley residence.

Once at the house, Harry unpacked, equally non-communicative to his Aunt, and left everything he owned in the smallest bedroom; whilst he was there, he wondered if he would be able to get the Ministry off his back. He had need of his wand in self-defence, and there was no telling what Scrimgeour might make him do in order to quash the charges if he cast spells while underage.

He kicked himself for not having had Amelia Bones send him a waiver after that idiot Fudge lost all credibility as Minister for Magic. Back then, they'd have given him nearly _anything_, seeing as he was "The Chosen One".

_Ah well. Water under the bridge,_ he thought.

After going back downstairs, Harry summoned up his Gryffindor courage and went to speak to his relatives.

"Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, I have some things to discuss."

His uncle fixed a beady gaze on him and said, "About ruddy _what_? That girl with that ridiculous pink hair came knocking on our door to deliver a letter. Seems that school of yours isn't so safe, eh? Headmaster dead and all that."

Bitterness flowed through the adolescent wizard as he once again remembered Snape killing Dumbledore.

"Yeah, he's dead, all right. That still doesn't change the fact that I need to stay here until I'm seventeen. Then I'll be gone and you'll never have to see me again. In the meantime, I'll be having friends of mine visit at least once a week, maybe even once a day. One of them is over the age of seventeen, which means she's allowed to do magic outside of school."

Aunt Petunia shrank back a bit, and Uncle Vernon turned a rather interesting orange-red colour.

"Yeah. You get the idea, so if we'll all just stay out of each others' way, I think we can make the next four weeks pass by rather tolerably. My friends will visit tomorrow, and I expect to be allowed unrestricted access to the telephone. Don't worry; I won't call the Page Three Girl Hotline or anything like that. I'm not interested in driving you bankrupt."

His fat uncle replied stiffly, "Very well. But mark my words; you put one toe out of line—"

Harry rolled his eyes, saying. "Yeah, yeah, you'll do this, that and the other thing. By now I think we've flogged that horse quite dead. I'll get out of your way now."

He turned his back on his uncle, and headed upstairs to remain in his bedroom. He decided to leaf through the book of the Half-Blood Prince. It was hard to believe this same book, which had somehow become a sort of… friend… had belonged to Severus Snape.

The odd thing was, even though he'd seen the man's handwriting on enough of his essays and assignments (usually with the requisite, "Potter, if you have a brain larger than a flobberworm's, use it," sample of corrective assistance as to just what he did wrong), not all the spells and corrections to the Prince's textbook were in that printing.

He wondered who the other person (persons?) could be; even so, those spells could be useful, if he could master nonverbal incantations. He desperately needed a place to test them out – he was not going to get caught unawares like that again with the _Sectumsempra_ curse that he had used on Malfoy. He was going to know what each curse did _before_ he used it, that was for sure – and he would damn well find a place to practice magic!

* * *

Author Notes:

I kept the title, but I've ditched most of the premise from the previous incarnation of this fic, which I just couldn't make work. So here, we have a post-HBP dark!Harry fic, who decides that he's been hurt enough to lose his scruples and go no-holds-barred with anyone who gets in his way. :)

Thanks go to **Maddevillechilde** for the beta work. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Vengeance Will Be Mine**  
Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Harry knew he would have to get a Pensieve in order to properly relish the looks on his relatives' faces when Ron and Hermione had come over and casually flicked their wands for everything they needed to have done. He had neglected to mention that the redhead was also of age, and simply smirked at Uncle Vernon when he had tried giving Ron a hard time over wand usage.

Aunt Petunia flinched when she had seen their wands, and Uncle Vernon demonstrated the full spectrum of various hues his face was able to take on, ranging from eggplant purple to sunburn red. None, of course, portended good news for any incipient heart condition he might have.

It started when Ron and Hermione noticed that Harru was doing the dishes when they had visited. Hermione had decided she was having none of that, and promptly cast various household cleaning charms, saying bossily, "Now you just stand there, Harry, and we'll have this done in a few moments."

The dishes were washing and drying themselves, while the kitchen floor took on a shiny reflection as though the tiles were brand-new. Harry thought it was rather like watching Mrs Weasley do the cooking and cleaning at the Burrow, and wondered how many little charms and spells existed that could make his everyday life easier.

Then Ron remembered he needed to lock the front door, and said a quick "_Colloportus,_" causing the Dursleys to flinch as they heard the _click_ of the lock.

Cousin Duddykins had then backed away fearfully, rushing into the back yard with his hands covering his arse after he realised what Ron and Hermione were holding in their hands, and that they could do that 'weird freaky stuff' that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had railed against ever since Harry got his Hogwarts letter all those years ago.

The trio decided fun was fun, though, and headed up to his room. Harry had Hermione cast a locking charm which would prevent anyone from opening the door until she cancelled it.

Once everyone got comfortable, Harry said, "By the way, Dumbledore told me about a loophole in the underage magic laws. You've probably heard the rumour about Ministry tracking charms and there's always some character out to make a quick Galleon that cons people by saying he'll 'remove the tracking charms' – there's no such thing. If someone who's over the age of seventeen is known to be nearby someone who's under seventeen, the Ministry is unable to discriminate who does what magic."

Hermione's lips pursed as she instantly recognised the discriminatory nature of the underage magic restrictions, while Ron, gobsmacked, blurted, "So _that's_ why Ginny never got a warning for nicking Fred's wand and hitting him with a Bat-Bogey back when she was home from first year! We were all worried as anything that a Ministry owl would come down, but nothing ever did. I wonder why Mum didn't just admit that the Ministry couldn't tell Mum's magic and Ginny's magic apart."

Harry replied, "Your mum probably didn't want you to get careless. Your dad wasn't exactly high in the Ministry hierarchy and gits like Lucius Malfoy would have loved to seize any chance possible to embarrass him."

He licked his lips and decided to test Dumbledore's theory. Flicking his wand at his Defence textbook which was sitting on his desk, he said, "_Wingardium Leviosa_."

The book floated up, then floated back down after he cancelled the spell; Ron and Hermione said nothing.

Nervously, the trio resumed the conversation in low voices, trying to decide how to go after Horcruxes, and admittedly not getting much of anywhere. Ron perked up after almost half an hour, saying, "Blimey! There's no owl!"

Sure enough, Hermione checked her watch, and confirmed that a half-hour had passed with no warning from the Ministry.

It was all Harry could do to keep from sporting a wicked grin on his face as he mentally catalogued all the things he would love to do to the Dursleys.

Ron's sudden proclamation that starving boys need to eat tore Harry away from his thoughts and refocussed his attention on the present.

"Hold on a second," Harry said. "We need to figure out a few things first. Number one – we need to get Headquarters back under our control. Hermione, I need you to find out everything you can about the _Fidelius_ Charm and what happens to it after the Secret Keeper dies. Number two – we need to train. Sixth-year spells won't cut it against Dark Arts. Number three – Hermione, Ron, I want you to go to Diagon Alley sometime and pick up all the books you can find on Defence and things like that."

At the look his freckled friend gave him, he drove on.

"Don't look at me like that, Ron. Someone's bound to have come up with Quidditch flying strategies we can adapt for fights and battles. I'll sign whatever forms need to be signed to let you spend my money; which reminds me… I need to get to Gringotts sometime and find out what I've got, as well as go to the Ministry… wait! Damn it, I can't! Not with Scrimgeour panting at the thought of using me as his poster boy. Ron, get Bill to talk to me. Maybe I can authorise him to go to the Ministry and get my parents' will and Sirius's will for me."

Harry took a deep breath and tried to think if he had missed anything; suddenly, he remembered something and blurted it out.

"Hermione! This is a completely wild guess – but I want you to get anything you can find about magical rituals and things like that. Voldemort probably used some of them on himself, so if I know what he did to himself I can try to defend myself better."

At the pair of stunned expressions, he added, "Um…what? Do I have something on my face?"

That seemed to shake Hermione out of her stupefied aura and she said, "Harry! You're actually sounding _organised_ for once! Like a military general!"

Ron chimed in with, "Yeah, mate. That's probably the longest single thing you've said to anyone, ever."

Harry smirked mirthlessly and said, "Well, we're at war. I've got to start thinking about how to fight, not how to snog girls."

His friends glanced at each other a little guiltily, but he just waved it off irritably, saying, "Look. We're the ones Dumbledore trusted to finish his job. That means _we're_ the ones who have to make the painful decisions and sometime soon, Ron, _you'll_ have to deal with Ginny as well."

Ron's groan punctuated that conversation, and the trio fell into discussing what to eat. Finally, after nobody seemed to be able to really decide, Hermione said, "Never mind. I'll Apparate somewhere and get us some take-away Chinese. You two stay here."

With a _crack_, Hermione disappeared. Twenty minutes later, she was back, bearing steaming containers of food. She said, "Since I doubt either of you knows what chopsticks are, I brought some plastic forks. Eat!"

The trio began eating, and the redhead in particular was quite entranced by the notion of chicken chow mein, while Harry remembered the time that the Dursleys had once mockingly left a fortune cookie for him, after preventing him from eating any of the delicious-looking food, allegedly as punishment for having overcooked Dudley's precious scrambled eggs that morning.

Now he knew why they'd grabbed for it all – it _was_ delicious; his resentment grew just a bit at the thought, and he pushed it away again, wondering how Hermione had avoided people. He said, "Hey, Hermione… how'd you avoid the Muggles out there, anyway?"

"Oh, that part was easy. There's an alleyway behind the Chinese place in Guildford, and I know the area well enough to be able to Apparate behind one of the large rubbish dumpsters. Then I just walked up like anyone who'd taken a bit of a stroll down the alleyway. Nobody saw a thing out of place."

Harry grinned, admiring Hermione's quick thinking, and making a mental note to practice that sort of thinking-ahead that served her so well.

* * *

Author Notes:

More filler material I'm afraid, but soon our Harry will find his brain filled to the brim with Dark Arts material. :) Thanks go to **Maddevillechilde** and **misfiredcanon** for the beta work :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Vengeance Will Be Mine**  
Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

It was amazing how fast two weeks could pass when you were going, as they said, 'balls to the wall' trying to research the _Fidelius_ Charm, reading the Half-Blood Prince's textbook, skulking about Diagon Alley to get to Flourish and Blotts, practically bullying Tonks into Metamorphing into inconspicuous forms to get borderline Dark books in Knockturn Alley, and in general scrambling in half a dozen directions to reach the culmination of an initially rather broad plan, Harry thought.

**- - -**

The first thing Harry did was make sure Ron got hold of Bill Weasley. As good as his word, two days after their Chinese dinner, Bill knocked at the door at Number Four Privet Drive. After Harry let him inside, the pair got poisonous looks from Aunt Petunia before she left for the kitchen. Although the man looked a bit worse for wear, he seemed to have mostly recovered from the nasty attack by Greyback at Hogwarts.

Harry showed Bill up to his room. Bill locked the door magically, then cast a perimeter detection charm.

He said, "I got the message from Ron, Harry."

"Thanks, Bill. I appreciate it. I need you to do me a few favours – can you get me some Gringotts drafts and an authorisation so Ron and Hermione can sign them for me if they go buy things? Also, can you sneak into the Ministry and get Sirius's will and my parents' will… well, maybe wills. I can't, or Scrimgeour will probably demand that I pose for pictures with him, or some inane rot like that."

Bill nodded. "I can do that – when I'm not curse-breaking for Gringotts I sometimes have to talk to the Goblin Liaison Office, so while I'm there I'll just slip over to the Wizengamot Administration Services. Their wills were probably registered there. Just sign a piece of parchment authorising me to act for you and I'll get it done in no time."

Harry snatched up a quill and parchment, and with Bill coaching him on the wording, it took just a few minutes to write out. Harry signed it, then handed the authorisation to Bill.

With a flourish, Bill produced several sheets of parchment, and then pointed one out in particular. He said, "Ron mentioned something about money, so I picked these up in advance. About those drafts - this, Harry, will let you do what you need. It states that whoever you name has the authority to sign these sight drafts on your behalf. If you don't want that, just sign them yourself and trust that your friends won't go crazy with your money."

Harry just shrugged and said, "I trust Ron and Hermione, Bill. Anyway, while I'm at it I was wondering if I could ask you to get me my Gringotts statements. I've absolutely no idea where I stand financially, and while I don't care that much about the money, it would be handy to know whether I'm really going to be in danger of going bankrupt any time soon."

"I can do that, Harry. That's everything – oh, and don't forget to come to the wedding, all right? Mum will go spare if her unofficial Weasley child isn't there, you know."

Harry grinned wanly, saying, "Thanks, Bill. I'll try to make it, but if it's too dangerous I might have to show up… invisibly, if you get my meaning."

Bill chuckled. "Ron's told me stories about that cloak of yours – they're pretty rare, you know. Don't lose it."

"Bloody right I'm not going to lose it. Anyway, thanks for all this, Bill. I appreciate it."

Bill nodded, after which they shook hands. He Disapparated, leaving a pensive Harry pondering what to do next.

**- - -**

That night, he lay in bed, wondering about himself, his mind travelling all the way back to his Sorting.

"_Not Slytherin, eh?" said the Hat. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that…"_

He'd never told anyone, except Dumbledore, about the truth of the Hat's perceptions. But if he really, honestly, thought about himself and compared his behaviours and actions to those of his fellow Gryffindors, he was forced to admit that he behaved like a Slytherin more often than could be accounted by chance, especially in his sixth year, when he'd gladly held onto the Half-Blood Prince's Potions text and shamelessly appropriated the improved brewing techniques to push his grades in the class into the stratosphere.

A hybrid – a strange hybrid, that's what he was. Bravely cunning. Slytherin and Gryffindor.

The question was – could he willingly embrace that Slytherin aspect of himself, _use_ it to his own ends? The Hat itself had once said that Slytherins used any means to accomplish their objectives, and he certainly wasn't being shy about being willing to learn advanced magic regardless of who wrote the book.

**- - -**

Tonks had been unwilling, at first, to go down Knockturn Alley to get Harry the books, but eventually he wore down her resistance, pointing out that he desperately needed to know what the Death Eaters were capable of so he could defend against them, and she reluctantly agreed. She'd pointed out that Knockturn, for all its reputation, wasn't some gold mine of darker-than-the-dead-of-night Dark Arts; for the most part the books she would find would be equivalent to those in Hogwarts' Restricted Section.

That was still fine with Harry, if it meant not having to run the gauntlet with Madam Pince to get books he felt he needed. He gave Tonks a sight draft and said, "Here. Take this to Gringotts and get some Galleons."

Tonks smirked slightly as she Metamorphed into an inconspicuous-looking half-hag, conjured up a cloak with hood, and Disapparated. Some time later, she returned with an exasperated look at the one book that wouldn't quit wailing when it fell off the pile in her arms.

**- - -**

The wills and statements had made for some interesting – if surprising – reading. Ron was gobsmacked at just _how_ much wealth Harry had at his command, while Hermione stayed focussed on what Harry needed to do to manage his assets and liabilities properly.

Basically, it boiled down to Sirius willing the vast majority of his estate over to Harry, with the proviso that Gringotts were to hold the estate in trust until the Ministry came to its senses. Harry thought that a rather smart move, considering the fact that the Blacks were once 'almost royalty', and someone like that idiot Fudge would have loved nicking the Black fortune if he could.

As for his parents' will – it had been jointly made by his Mum and Dad – it was a somewhat dry document that specified that all the assets of the Potter family were to go to Harry upon his majority. Until that time, Albus Dumbledore (or failing him, Minerva McGonagall) were the trustees. As a last resort, Gringotts were instructed to hold the trust if no-one else could. Harry assumed this to have been a worst-case preparation in the event that Voldemort won, but left the goblins alone.

To his surprise, he learned that not only did the house at Godric's Hollow belong to him (or, he supposed, what was left of it), the Potters also owned a large plot of land in the Orkneys, as well as property in rural Ireland. The Black holdings were even more extensive, with property peppered throughout England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland. In addition they held property in Greece and Malta. Harry mused that they would make nice vacation spots, upon which Hermione agreed, saying, "They would, as they're in the Mediterranean. The climate is quite nice, for the most part."

The Gringotts statements were another gold mine of information – it transpired that Harry's vault, numbered 687, was his _trust_ vault; it was intended solely to be his incidental support for his childhood years. The excessively large amount of currency in it now had been due to a combination of factors: his being raised by the Dursleys, and his tendency to spend very little money. Indeed, since the trust vault paid some interest, the roughly five thousand Galleons to start with, in 1981, had grown to a respectable eight thousand in 1997. There was the expected number of withdrawals – he could account for all of them and none were in any way suspicious.

As for the _main_ Potter vault, numbered 511, the single sheet of parchment noted that in addition to the unbelievable figure of three _million_ Galleons, plus a certain number of Sickles and Knuts, there were various family items such as paintings, furniture, et cetera. Harry assumed this to be because his parents had secreted away many of their possessions against the possibility that they might be attacked. There hadn't been a single withdrawal since 1981.

The Black vaults (_vaults?! _thought Harry), numbered 661, 1173, 1332 and 1460, in addition to Sirius's personal vault numbered 711, were absolutely embarrassingly filled to the brim with money and rare artefacts. The bottom line was – even if Harry ran out of the Potter money, the Black money, running into the tens of millions of Galleons, would stand him well, and if _that_ ran out, he could just start raiding the vaults for stuff to sell. It wasn't like he cared about some bauble owned by Phineas Nigellus Black. The withdrawals were harder to keep track of, but he could tell exactly when Sirius went and ordered the Firebolt, plus the one or two times he'd managed to sneak into Gringotts to get some money. The rest were payment drafts to Dumbledore to keep the Order of the Phoenix solvent.

Harry's head whirled as he let the parchment leave his fingers. He leaned back on his bed, pulling his pillow upright to cushion his back from the wall. Hermione was cataloguing the list of artefacts specifically named on the inventory sheets, while Ron struggled to process the fact that Harry wasn't just _rich_, he was _absolutely loaded_.

Chuckling hollowly, Ron said, "Well, mate, looks like we can go shopping for you any time, right?"

Harry stirred to action, grabbing the Gringotts drafts and the authorisation form. "Yeah. Hermione, Ron – take these and go shopping for those books like I said. I've signed the form so you can just show it to the bloke at Flourish and Blotts."

Hermione's proficiency with spells proved useful when she cast rather sophisticated glamours on Ron and herself, after which they Disapparated from Harry's room, only to appear an hour later, laden with books of all kinds. Ron, poor fellow, was staggering under the weight of a pile of books nearly three feet tall, and unceremoniously let them go in Harry's room, scattering them everywhere, even as Hermione nearly screeched in horror at the mistreatment of new books.

Hermione, after scolding Ron for being careless with the books, said, "I've got to talk to Professor Flitwick about the _Fidelius_ Charm. This book—"

Hermione held up a slim volume titled Fidelity with the Fidelius: Protecting your House, by someone named Anna Livesay. "—explains the charm. I skimmed through it while Ron got some Defence Against the Dark Arts books."

Harry took the book, and began reading.

_The Fidelius Charm is not well-understood, partly owing to the need to combine the precision science of Arithmancy with the magical strength of Ancient Runes…_

Harry slammed the book shut, saying, "Arithmancy? _Arithmancy?!_ Hermione, I can't do this. And it says we need _Runes_, too. God!"

He began slamming his forehead into the book, wishing he'd not spent so much time making up homework with Ron for Divination. Hermione wrenched the book from his hands, and said sheepishly, "I'm sorry, Harry. I tend to forget you and Ron didn't do those subjects at Hogwarts. It doesn't necessarily need you to cast the spell even if you're going to be the Secret Keeper, though."

Harry looked at Ron, and as he did so, they both breathed a theatrical sigh of relief, prompting Hermione to half-heartedly smack them with the Fidelius book.

Attempting to mollify Hermione, Harry said, "Look, we'll read the Defence books. If nothing else, the more spells we know the better."

Ron seemed a bit put off by the need to actually _study_, and not just for school, but for something related to _real life_.

Hermione, for her part, was absently mumbling to herself. Harry caught snatches of "-McGonagall… wonder if-", "-and Flitwick-", before she seemed to shake herself back to reality, saying, "Don't wait up for me. It may be a while before I find Professor Flitwick. And Harry, the Fidelius book isn't _that_ bad – you can skip all the equations and still get an idea of how the charm works."

The two young men nodded, while Hermione Disapparated.

**- - -**

The trio stood in front of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, having taken the train from Surrey, then a taxicab from London proper. Harry had made an executive decision to go the Muggle way to avoid being accosted by unsavoury magical types of one form or another. Ron had been fascinated by the journey, but had the good sense to follow Hermione's whispered directions to avoid making himself too obvious. Harry had had no trouble, being generally familiar with the Muggle world himself. By the time they got there, the sun was just beginning to set.

The departure from the Dursleys had been oddly anticlimactic. Harry had gathered all his possessions, shoved them in his trunk, had Hermione shrink it for him, then walked downstairs with his friends past Aunt Petunia. He had looked at his Aunt, half-heartedly said "Good-bye", and then left. He hoped to never see his relatives again.

Harry heaved a sigh at the doleful thought of having to deal with Sirius's old house, but decided there was nothing to be done but go on with what they were doing. He recalled fragments of what the Fidelius book mentioned, and said, "Hermione, let's go. We need to destroy the… what did you call them?"

"Foundation Runes. The Arithmancy is used to structure the spell based on the form of the Foundation Runes, which in turn are chosen based on the desired properties of protection and secrecy. We need to destroy the old _Fidelius_, but the reason why it's not always a good idea is because the destruction of such a powerful piece of magic often creates a backlash. We'll lessen the risk of damage to ourselves or the house if we replace the _Fidelius_ in a stagewise fashion. That means we destroy the old Foundation Runes one at a time, and I've structured the spell so that we cast a different part of it at each stage. Unfortunately it'll take a lot out of the caster. I know I originally said you didn't have to do it even if you wanted to be the Secret Keeper, Harry, but I'm afraid I've got to ask you to do this. To be honest, you're stronger, magically, than either of us."

Harry grimaced, but acquiesced. Hermione's knowledge was nearly unassailable. "Okay. Just tell me what to do and I'll cast the spell each time. Where would the runes be?"

"If I know Dumbledore, he'll have put them at the very edges of the property. Let's take a look."

As it turned out, the runes were indeed located at the far corners of the mansion's yard. Destroying a rune involved a straightforward Reductor curse, but Harry found out firsthand what a magical backlash felt like when he incautiously stood too close and didn't ask Hermione and Ron to shield him.

"_Reducto!"_

The next thing Harry knew, his arse (and the rest of him) landed painfully on the grass some twenty feet away from the rune, and his glasses were askew. Dazedly, he muttered, "What happened?"

Ron and Hermione rushed up to him, Hermione casting a dozen diagnostic spells, Ron saying, "Blimey! Mate, are you okay there? Here, grab my arm."

Harry slowly stood up, adjusting his glasses. Hermione said, "Everything seems all right – you'll have a bruise on your… well, you know where, Harry, but otherwise you'll be fine."

"Well, I don't fancy doing _that_ again. Next time you'll shield me, or I'll cast from farther away. Did the _Fidelius_ start to break?"

Hermione cast a quick spell, then nodded. "There's a spell that can be used to make sure the _Fidelius_ is sound, even if you're not the Secret Keeper. Professor Flitwick was very helpful about that. Right now the charm is beginning to go, and will fail on its own in a few more days, but obviously we'd like to not wait that long. Let's get back over to that corner. I've got the new runes."

Hermione quickly had the new rune placed, and Harry licked his lips while Hermione lit her torch so he could read the parchment. He ran his eyes over the first section, indicated for him, and tried to master its cadence and intonation.

When he was ready, he began. What he wasn't prepared for was the sudden burst of white light exiting his wand, and striking the rune. Suddenly, his legs felt weak, and he mumbled, "Ron, 'Ermione…"

Swiftly, the pair held him upright as he struggled to regain his balance. Hermione said, "Harry, _please_ stay awake! We need to do this fairly quickly. There's no telling what will happen if we can't get the spells done quickly enough – the two _Fidelius_ charms might start merging, and then we'll be in _real_ trouble!"

Harry shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and managed to regain his steady footing. He set his jaw, and said, "Right. We've got some more of these to do, so no time to waste. Show me the next one, Hermione."

Three more times, they went through the ritual, with Harry lying on the grass, Ron and Hermione shielding him with spells (even so, the force of the backlash could be felt as they strained to keep the shielding active) as he blasted the old rune into pieces, followed by momentary weakness as his magic energised the new rune.

Finally, they were done with the runes, and Harry read the last line: "_Permissum specialis custodis exsisto Harry Potter_".

Unsure of what to do precisely, he said, "Hermione?"

"This line designates you as the Secret Keeper. When you cast the spell, keep the address of the house firmly in your mind, and once the magic is finished, if all is well, neither Ron nor I should be able to see the house any longer."

"Right. Let's go."

The trio stepped onto the pavement near the house, and Harry, feeling a bit silly and self-conscious now that they were visible to Muggles, quickly incanted the Secret Keeping spell, all the while keeping the house's address fixed uppermost in his mind.

**- - -**

Rufus Scrimgeour was in a late-evening meeting with Gawain Robards when, all of a sudden, Percy Weasley (who had taken his boss's hint and stayed overtime) rushed into his office, breathlessly announcing something about a surge of magic somewhere in London. It seemed that the Departments of Magical Law Enforcement and Magical Accidents and Catastrophes were sent into a tizzy when four bursts of magic registered on the sensors located in London proper, which the Improper Use of Magic Office monitored for any unauthorised use of magic. The Minister and Head Auror ran pell-mell for the Magical Situation Room, located on the same floor as DMLE.

As they prepared to enter the room, Rufus saw that the swing-shift Obliviators and Aurors were already rushing for designated Apparation Rooms, preparing to quarter the area and narrow down where the magic was coming from. Unlike the situation with respect to Harry Potter's residence, the Ministry did not monitor all of Great Britain as closely or as assiduously. Scrimgeour, his eyes on a magical projection of the affected area of London, could see that the magical levels were higher than normal in a fairly broad area near Camden Town, but could not isolate a spike anywhere, which would locate the magic user more precisely.

Damn, damn, and _damn! _Of all the times for the Ministry to find out it needed better granularity in its magic sensors!

**- - -**

What Harry was once again unprepared for was a brilliant white light enveloping him for a moment, then whisking its way into the centre of the house, again followed by an episode of weakness.

He nearly blacked out before struggling to his feet, again thankful for Ron's strength and Hermione's mother-henning. He gasped, "Did… did I do it right?"

Ron said, "Um…mate? Why are we here? You said something about a house a long time ago, didn't you?"

Hermione said, "I'm a bit curious, too. I have these papers here, which seem to be for a _Fidelius_ Charm, but I don't see what it was we cast it on… Harry?"

Harry grinned – three Hogwarts students, not even in seventh year, had managed to establish for themselves an unassailable headquarters for the duration of the war against Voldemort!

Concentraing with all his might in order to stay focussed, Harry said, "Ron, Hermione – pay close attention. Harry Potter's House is at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."

Momentarily puzzled, the sudden reappearance of the house before his friends was all the explanation they needed before enveloping him in a crushing embrace.

Hermione was the first to get back to business, as she said, "Come on – we've got loads of work to do still. Let's go!"

And so saying, they re-entered the old mansion, ready and determined to make it inhabitable once again. Just as the door to Grimmauld Place clicked shut, stilling the streets once more, Obliviators rushed down the road, trying to determine if any Muggles had seen a thing. An Auror gave a cursory look up and down the street, and yelled, "Nothing here! Forget it!" He Apparated out, leaving Arnold Peasegood and his Obliviation Squad with the unenviable task of interviewing Muggles this late at night. It would turn out later that none had seen anything of note – just the occasional car rumbling along the street or a pedestrian walking. Peasegood agreed with the Auror: it had been a complete waste of his time.

Meanwhile, back at the Ministry, the DMLE went into a further tizzy as the Improper Use of Magic office reported that its sensors went into overload, and would have to be recalibrated and reset. Scrimgeour could see for himself on the map projection that the readings near Camden Town were fluctuating wildly, and resisted the urge to kick something, even as he heard Robards let loose an oath which would have had Mrs Weasley threatening to glue his mouth shut.

Scrimgeour agreed – whoever had been using magic had done the Ministry no favours except to kick it over like an anthill. Granted, there weren't many people _that_ magically powerful, but as it was he had no way of telling if it had been one person or a massed group of Death Eaters.

Merlin-be-damned, of all the times to become Minister for Magic!

**- - -**

While Rufus Scrimgeour was revisiting his old haunts in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Severus Snape found himself unbound from the Secret preventing him from disclosing the location of the Order of the Phoenix, and cursed his bad luck to have been brewing a potion at the time in his residence, Spinner's End. Hurriedly he began cleaning up, preparing to put the volatile potion into temporary stasis. However, by the time he was finally done and ready to dash out the door to Apparate, he suddenly found himself unable to remember why he had prepared to Apparate at all – after all, Headquarters didn't exist… right?

**- - -**

Old Mad-Eye Moody went through nearly the same chain of events, although he wasn't brewing a potion; rather, he was at Arabella Figg's place minding the store since she had already turned in for the night. So, having not been under the same time constraints as Snape, he had quickly scribbled a note to himself – "Headquarters not under secret."

A few moments later, as Mad-Eye was trying to recall that there had ever been a Headquarters at all, chanced to look at the parchment he'd scribbled on, and realised that someone – likely Potter – had broken a _Fidelius_ and re-established it with a new Secret Keeper. But where had that blasted Headquarters _been_?

He was going to have a little chat with that young man.

* * *

Author Notes:

Hello, all. First off, thanks go to **misfiredcanon** and **Maddevillechilde** for the beta work. :) Second off, the significance of the vault numbers I chose, aside from 687 and 711, both of which are referred to in the movies or books, is that they're all well-known gamma rays energies, in keV, used in nuclear physics. :)

Third off, why nobody else heard a thing nearby Grimmauld Place was because the Fidelius was still partly active, as were all the other protections on the property. So a Muggle wouldn't have heard bupkiss, and the last casting by Harry didn't involve smashing anything to pieces, so it wouldn't have woken anyone up. Keep in mind that sundown during summer is quite late at night (9-10 PM) and during a weekday, people would be more likely to be in bed or otherwise not paying much attention to the outside. :)

As always I welcome concrit, so if you have anything to say please let me know. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Vengeance Will Be Mine**  
Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Rufus Scrimgeour, Gawain Robards, Mafalda Hopkirk and several other high-level members of the Ministry of Magic were seated in the luxuriously-appointed conference room on level two, which was that of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

The Minister opened the meeting.

"All right," he said. "You're all here because you were either directly involved in the search for an unusual episode of magic last night, or you were here when it happened. Mr Weasley, is the Dictating Quill active and recording?"

"Yes, Minister."

"Good. All right, Mafalda, begin."

The slight woman, whose name had been the bane of Harry Potter's existence since second year when Dobby's use of magic had been blamed on him, stood before a charmed wall that was designed to show an audience a projection of one's parchment. She placed a sheet of the stuff against the inset on the far left and then tapped it once to activate the temporary Sticking Charm.

At that moment, the wall lit up, revealing the notes on the parchment.

"As you can all see, at approximately ten o'clock last night four surges of magic occurred within five minutes of each other, which, at best, we can narrow down to Camden Town. Note that there are no Muggleborns registered in the area, which would otherwise account for the magic."

The map on the parchment showed the area of London and the elevated magical levels in the vicinity; with a frustrated frown, Mafalda continued.

"Furthermore, it proved impossible to effectively localise the surge. Unfortunately, the blame for this can be laid at the feet of former Ministers Bagnold and Fudge, who cut back funding for my department on the grounds that since You-Know-Who was assumed to be dead, we didn't need the staff or the number of magic detectors that we used during the first war."

Scrimgeour broke in.

"I recall this," he added. "The Aurors thought it was a bad idea, as well, as dark magic can be more easily hidden if the sensor network is ineffective at establishing the precise geographic location of such activities."

The slight witch took up the thread again.

"In any case, about a quarter of our sensors were _allocated _to other uses. As well, a good portion of the staff was pensioned off in the late 1980s. I have since found out that the sensors which were taken out, particularly in the London area, were largely appropriated by pure-blood friends of Minister Fudge, who found them useful in detecting the presence of magical beings near their residences.

"However, to make matters worse, the sensor network in that section of London went into catastrophic overload when a large surge of magic occurred not five minutes after the initial four surges. I have already begun sending staff to attempt to restore the magic detectors to working order. If not, we will need to begin an emergency program to make new ones, or persuade some people to return their magical detectors."

"Very well," Scrimgeour said. "Anything else to report?"

The head of the Obliviators, Stan Resnick, replied, "As far as the Obliviators are concerned this whole exercise was a waste of time. Peasegood alone spent something like half an hour rousing Muggles from their tevelision sets or from bed to question them. Others spent a similar amount of time and the end result is – absolutely nothing. No events worthy of Obliviation save their presence in the area."

The Head Auror finished up by saying, "Nothing from my Aurors either. They didn't catch anybody doing magic, dark or otherwise. Waste of time for them, too."

The Minister was almost finished, but one person had yet to speak.

"Croaker – I notice you haven't said a word."

The Unspeakable shrugged; his face was hidden by his robe hood.

"What would you have me say? Even if the Department of Mysteries found anything – and I neither confirm nor deny a thing – we wouldn't necessarily report it to you. You can choose to believe it is because of our semi-autonomy from the Ministry or because it is our desire to give you plausible deniability. Pick whichever one sounds better."

Scrimgeour fumed slightly as he wrapped things up, giving Croaker a look that clearly indicated, _we will be having words later, mister._

"Fine. As it stands, these surges of magic could be a problem. The last time such a thing happened was, oddly, in the same area, about two or three years ago, according to this report from the archives in the Auror Division—" he held up another piece of parchment, then replaced Mafalda's on the wall. "—and as you can see, a single surge of magic was registered in the area, but didn't overload the sensors at that time. At the time, of course, Minister Fudge was in charge and according to subsequent reports in the Auror Division and the Improper Use of Magic office, the official excuse is that the sensors malfunctioned. In retrospect we can probably dismiss that, chalk it up to Fudge's laziness, and assume that _some_one is up to _some_thing, and unless I miss my guess, it has to do with Albus Dumbledore, dead or alive."

The man's lion-like features hardened as he concluded, "And that means it also has to do with Harry Potter. _Dumbledore's Man._"

**- - -**

The wizard in question was currently sleeping, having collapsed of exhaustion as soon as he and his friends entered Grimmauld Place. The last thing he heard Hermione saying was, "Oh-! Ron, quickly – get him to a bed!"

However, as in all things, sleep does end, and soon Harry was somewhat conscious. He looked around blearily, noticing that things looked even fuzzier than usual without his glasses. He also had a headache; memories slowly filtered back into his consciousness as he recalled _why_. He moaned at the realisation that he was back in Grimmauld Place.

_God, this place is a dump. I wonder if Dobby or Winky would mind cleaning this place up for us._

Thinking of house-elves reminded him of Kreacher, and he thought sourly, _sod Kreacher. Bloody traitorous house-elf anyway._

He gingerly rose up off the bed, noting that the bed beside his was still freshly made and did not look slept in. He smirked, wondering if Ron and Hermione had slept in the same bed in another part of the mansion.

He stumbled his way to the bathroom, relieved that none of the household artefacts started attacking him, and luxuriated in the hot shower as it relaxed his muscles and brought him fully awake. After getting dressed, he went looking for his friends, and as it turned out, both were in the Black library; Hermione had his trunk beside her at one of the tables, but she hadn't opened it.

The redhead sat opposite her, and was desultorily consulting a Quidditch strategies book while the witch had a thick tome in front of her, filled with dense printing on the pages.

Both looked up, and warmly grinned as they each greeted Harry.

"God," he said, "that was exhausting. I am _never_ casting a _Fidelius_ again if I can help it! Anyway, how long have you two been awake? I see you put me in my old room here. Did you both sleep in Hermione's room?"

The slight blush on her face and the sudden reddening of Ron's ears told him all he needed to know.

"Glad to see you two are getting along," Harry said. "Makes for a nice change from the arguing, you know."

He stuck out his tongue and went to open his trunk, then began extracting the shrunken books to add to the reading material.

"Er, mate," Ron answered hesitantly, "it's not like you'd think, you know… Hermione and me, we didn't…"

In realisation, Harry grinned.

"I'm just taking the mick, Ron. We're all of age, now – well, technically I'm not, but bloody hell, we're in an Unplottable house, behind a million enchantments, _and_ a _Fidelius_ Charm. And there won't be any betrayals because you'd better believe I don't intend on giving this place up to Voldemort. So I can do magic just like you two, drink Firewhiskey, shag like—"

A sharp voice interrupted him.

"All _right_, Harry." Hermione said shrilly. "I think we get the point! Now, the first thing you've got to do is find _someone_, anyone who can teach you Occlumency. What if V-Voldemort read the Secret for this place out of your mind, or something?"

_Shite,_ thought Harry, as Ron cried, "Blimey!"

"Right, you two, Get cracking through this place. Anything on the mental arts, bring it to this table. Let's go!"

Ron and Hermione stood up, and so did Harry. He decided to remove the books already on the table and in sudden excitement, tinged with anger and scorn for Snape, slashed his wand over the table, only to jump back in shock as all the books zoomed off the table to pile themselves up beside his trunk.

The trio stood, shocked, as their black haired fellow struggled to understand how he could have done nonverbal magic so effectively when he hadn't even bothered to learn a book-transport-and-piling spell, assuming such a thing existed.

Slowly, Harry said, "Okaaaaay – _that_ was interesting. But we can handle that later. Right now, Occlumency. Let's get cracking."

**- - -**

An hour later, all of three books were on the table. _ Occlumency: __The Hidden Arte_, by Justin Case; _Mental Magick_, by Oscar O. Reilly, and _Raising Your Mental Defences_, by Amanda Sithton.

"Well," said Hermione, "if there's only three, then why don't you, Harry, take one, and Ron, you take another one and I'll take the last. Then we'll swap when finished."

Ron grumbled a little, but Harry decided pride was one thing, foolish pride another. He swallowed his dislike of having to re-learn something he'd failed at, grabbed _The Hidden Arte_, and placed it near the chair he'd drawn up to the table.

Before he began, he realised they could not work out of Grimmauld Place without a complete and thorough cleaning. Grudgingly, he knew he would have to fight Hermione on this, but decided to just deal with it.

"Kreacher!"

The ancient house-elf popped in front of his young master, twisting his hands and peering this way and that as he mumbled, "Oh, if only Mistress could see her library now, polluted by half-bloods and Mudbloods…"

"That's enough, Kreacher." Harry said firmly. "Go get Dobby from Hogwarts and bring him immediately back here. You will not go anywhere but to Hogwarts and then back here. Do you understand?"

The house-elf looked as though he wanted to say something, but nodded resentfully, or so Harry thought, and re-materialised a few seconds later with Dobby, who promptly wrapped himself around Harry's legs, saying "Oh, the great Harry Potter wishes to speak to Dobby! Dobby is happy to speak to Harry Potter sir!"

Ron was attempting to stifle a chuckle, and even Hermione was hard-pressed to open her mouth to begin some sort of lecture on house-elf rights.

Gently, the bespectacled teenager disengaged from Dobby and knelt down to speak with him at eye level.

"Is Winky happy at Hogwarts?"

Dobby's ears drooped as he said, "Dobby wishes that he could tell Harry Potter sir that Winky is doing well, but Winky is still drinking butterbeer, sir. She wishes to be bound to a family."

Harry sighed.

"Do you think she would be willing to work for me? And would you?"

Dobby enthusiastically bounced on his feet, saying, "Dobby would be _happy_ to work for Harry Potter sir!"

His bushy haired friend, spotting instantly what her darker-haired fellow was up to, began to open her mouth, and he, for some unaccountable reason, felt a sudden fit of anger over her self-righteousness.

"_Damn_ it, Hermione! Don't open your mouth – I know you were going to! I want this place cleaned up, and I need house-elves to do it. I don't give a damn right now for your insistence that I shouldn't bind Winky to me. You haven't even bothered to _ask_ house-elves if there's a very good reason why they need to be bound to a wizard or witch. You haven't even used good logic! You've taken Dobby as the rule, not the exception, which is exactly _backwards_ from how you're supposed to figure out what to change in a situation you don't like."

Before Hermione could get going on her retort, Dobby spoke up timidly. "Dobby wishes to say something to Miss Grangey, Harry Potter sir."

"Go ahead, Dobby. I'm not angry at you."

The house-elf snapped his fingers and materialised onto the table with a _pop_.

"Miss Grangey," he said, "house-elves is needing to be bound to a family or to Hogwarts because we is needing to use our magic through the binding. Dobby is an exception, Miss Grangey, because Dobby is already binding himself to Harry Potter without needing to be bound. Unfortunately, Dobby is not sure where to begin in telling Miss Grangey in a better way."

She looked somewhat gobsmacked, and Harry attempted to translate.

"I think what Dobby's trying to say is that house-elves somehow sustain themselves using their owner's magic, but he somehow can still use his magic because he feels loyal to me, and considers that equivalent to a more formal binding. Is that it, Dobby?"

Dobby nodded eagerly, his ears flopping as he did so. "Dobby believes that Harry Potter sir has explained it! Dobby is proud to be serving the most noble Harry Potter, the kind one even to _house-elves_."

Kreacher, meanwhile, was grumbling unnoticed in the corner until Harry remembered to deal with him.

"Kreacher," he intoned coldly, "go back to Hogwarts and stay there. Do not speak to anyone except Headmistress McGonagall or myself. That is a direct order. Obey it!"

The elf wailed and thrashed about, but after a few seconds of this, he grudgingly popped away.

Dobby said, "Kreacher is a _bad_ house-elf, Harry Potter sir. We is not happy when we is hearing that Kreacher is trying to betray his master. But we is not able to punish Kreacher."

Hermione said, "By 'we', you mean the house-elves at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, Miss Grangey. We is happy to be working at Hogwarts for the old Headmaster Dumbydore, and we has been treated well by Headmistress Minervy even before Headmistress Minervy is being Headmistress."

At hearing the mangling of the stern Professor's name, the three friends let out some chuckles, and Harry's mind presented an amusing mental image of McGonagall's expression should she ever hear the name.

Smiling, he said, "All right, Dobby. Can you go get Winky? I need you two to begin working on cleaning this place up – and I do mean cleaning it up properly. Anything dark, you can put into a storage area if you can move it without touching it yourself. Otherwise, come get one of us and we'll levitate it and move it for you. And in particular get that blasted painting off the wall. I'm amazed we haven't heard from that old cow yet."

Ron grinned, saying, "Silencing charms work wonders, Harry."

Dobby popped away, then rematerialised with Winky, who had a bottle of butterbeer in her hand. Dobby looked as embarrassed as a house-elf could be, and flicked his fingers, vanishing the butterbeer bottle, leaving Winky looking somewhat sad and bewildered.

Harry said, softly, "Winky?"

She looked at him sadly and said, "Dobby is telling me that you is wishing to bind me, sir."

"That's right, but I want you to understand that if you're ever unhappy with it, you tell me, and I will release you. Okay?"

Winky sighed dolefully, and said, "I is happy with the binding, sir, and I is making sure that you is never displeased! I is a _good_ house-elf!"

"All right, Winky. Tell me how to do this."

"You is holding out your wand and simply thinking about the binding. I is accepting, and it is done."

Harry held out his wand, and did as told – thought about accepting Winky into his service. As he did so, Winky held out her hand, and a yellow light enveloped her hand, spreading over her body, then extended, rope-like, to touch Harry's wand. He thought, _so the binding _is_ at least somewhat literal. God, how can I know so little about magical creatures even after all this time?_

The yellow light faded, and Winky said, "Oh, I is feeling much better now! I is _never _drinking butterbeer again, Master Harry Potter."

Uncomfortably, Harry said, "Um, could I get you to just call me Harry? Or even Harry Potter?"

Winky looked horrified at the thought, and replied, "Sir, you is Harry Potter sir. I is fixing the house now, Harry Potter sir."

"Dobby is also helping to fix the house now, Harry Potter sir!"

Harry said, "All right. First thing, get the kitchen into a usable condition and then go from there. Like I said, get any of us if you need help."

The two elves nodded, then disappeared. Shortly after, Harry could hear some clanking in the kitchen, indicating that the house-elves were moving the pots and pans to clean.

Ron grinned and said, "Of all the people to get two house-elves for free, it had to be you, mate. I couldn't persuade you to lend us Winky at the Burrow, could you?"

Hermione fired up and said, "Ronald Weasley! How could you? It's bad enough Harry has two house-elves who aren't even being _paid _to clean this entire place. Now you want one because you're too lazy to help your own Mum clean at her house!"

Ron turned red and said, "Lay _off_, Hermione! Mum's been going spare over the wedding preparations, and it's wearing me and Ginny out; I think a house-elf could help her, you know. You have _no_ idea how much of a row me and my Mum had over visiting Harry all the time, and she just about tried to put me in the Body Bind to keep me from being with you two last night – this wedding business isn't helping her temper one bit. She only backed off because she thinks you're still coming for the wedding, Harry."

Harry sighed and said, "I'll try my very best, Ron, but if it's too dangerous it's too dangerous. I'll probably have to be there in my Invisibility Cloak or something."

Hermione, a bit miffed at not being able to argue her points to death, said tartly, "Excuse me, but _I_ at least have a book to read and I want to get started."

Harry nodded, sat back down, and began reading.

* * *

Author Notes:

Mostly filler material I'm afraid, but things are moving along. :) Thanks go to **misfiredcanon** and **Maddevillechilde** for the beta work.


	5. Chapter 5

**Vengeance Will Be Mine**  
Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Rufus Scrimgeour had the Unspeakable, Croaker, in his office, ready to give the man a dressing-down for being nearly insubordinate at the meeting.

"Damn it, man! Department of Mysteries or no Department of Mysteries, I will _not_ have my underlings being insubordinate! Now, did you or did you not find anything about that magical surge?"

"Minister," Croaker replied calmly, "I think I've made it clear what I think about Aurors with more of an eye for politics than law enforcement. That having been said, purely off the record, we don't know anything. Tell that twit Hopkirk to quit going after Muggleborns for petty offences and nail some Death Eaters casting Unforgivables!"

The Minister's jaw tightened as his face slowly congested. He snapped, "I will _not_ be spoken to that way! Amelia Bones's death meant there was a need for _continuity_, a need for _strength_! I believe I have proven that I have provided those needs to the wizarding community. Now, as for the Improper Use of Magic Office's priorities, I shall certainly speak with Miss Hopkirk. And as for you, I don't think you fully appreciate the _politics_ of the situation."

Scrimgeour continued in exasperation. He spoke in a clipped, staccato fashion.

"It boils down to this: I stand by what I said in the briefing room. Harry Potter is up to something, and if it's his magic that's overloading our sensors – he's, what, becoming seventeen this summer? – then we've got a powerful mage on our hands who has no intention of helping the Ministry. This cannot be allowed, Croaker. It just _cannot_. The Ministry and Harry Potter, the Chosen One, _must_ be seen to be working together against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or all is lost!"

The Unspeakable's expression did not change from imperturbability.

"Minister, your concerns are noted. However, the evidence seems to be thin on the ground that there is a connection to our Chosen One whom you so desperately wish to employ."

Scrimgeour's expression was unreadable as he replied, "As the case may be, Croaker, you may take this as a verbal reprimand. The next time I have to deal with this nearly-insubordinate attitude from you, I will put you on report. Are we clear?"

The latter nonchalantly rose out of his chair, and strode out of the office; Rufus Scrimgeour couldn't help but feel that Croaker had managed to get the last word.

**- - -**

Mad-Eye Moody was about to make things more difficult for Harry, since the day after the teenager in question moved out of Number Four Privet Drive, Moody darkened their door. Petunia Dursley's lips pursed as she realised who the ex-Auror was, having seen him at the train station after her nephew's fifth year. She had a short and clipped conversation with him, in which it became rapidly clear that Harry no longer lived in the house.

Mad-Eye kept his composure, only swivelling his artificial eye once for effect, before turning around and stumping down Privet Drive. As he stumped back over to Arabella Figg's residence, he muttered to himself. Little Mark Evans, the boy who Dudley Dursley had once beaten up for sport, goggled wide-eyed at the ancient man with a bowler hat jammed rather awkwardly over his head at an angle, covering one eye. How could the man _see_ anything?

He heard the man muttering, "—blasted kid, if the Dementors get hold of him—"

The boy in question, thoroughly convinced of the man's insanity, decided to stay far away from him, and dashed off to the park.

Once inside Figg's house on Wisteria Walk, Mad-Eye dashed off his hat, bellowing, "_Arabella!_ We have a _situation_ here, by all the familiars of Merlin!"

Mrs Figg, having just been outside to feed her cats, and carrying an empty tin of cat food, looked rather irritated as she absently said to the cat resting in the doorway, "Mr Tibbles! Move, please!"

She looked at Mad-Eye suspiciously and said, "Now, before you go hollering 'constant vigilance' at me and all that, why on _Earth_ are you bellowing about a 'situation'?"

"Great Merlin, lady, you wouldn't be so complacent if you knew that the Potter boy's gone! Vanished! Left his house yesterday and we blasted well _missed_ him!"

The elderly Squib dropped the empty tin of cat food in shock.

"What in the world—?" she gasped. "Didn't anyone think to set a spell on him to trace him?"

Mad-Eye felt thoroughly disgusted with himself as he growled, "_If_ he chose to leave this area _magically_, yes. One of those trinkets I borrowed from Dumbledore would have told me about any serious magic done in the area – and it tracked Apparition by that Granger girl and the Weasley boy over the last couple of weeks. But from his Aunt's report, he and his friends left the Muggle way – walked somewhere, took a train… they could be blasted well anywhere by now!"

"Well, how in the world are we supposed to _find_ the boy, then?"

The ex-Auror's eye whirled in its socket as he grunted, "Your guess is as good as mine. I'll have to see if I still have some contacts at the Ministry."

**- - -**

Two men met at the Hog's Head that night, cloaked and hooded. Mad-Eye made sure Aberforth Dumbledore kept patrons away from the table he'd staked out, and kept the drinks flowing.

He was seated in a corner of the bar with his back to the wall, and with a half dozen low-power alert wards placed to ensure almost omniscient knowledge of what the other patrons were carrying either in the way of glamour charms or in the way of weaponry. Not long afterward, he saw the Unspeakable enter and casually wave a hand at Aberforth. The latter responded by handing the man a mug of firewhiskey, after which the Unspeakable made his way – not with overt caution, but with an aura of awareness of his surroundings – to Mad-Eye's table.

The latter wizard took a seat perpendicular to his own, so that both men had their backs to the wall and commanded a view of the rest of the bar. The Unspeakable cast his own perimeter detection wards and then muttered, "Mad-Eye."

"Croaker. Or did you change your name again?"

"It's still Croaker. You contacted me with the old protocol – haven't seen it used in almost twenty years."

Mad-Eye grunted, his artificial eye working overtime to scout out the other patrons even as his one good eye squinted just a bit at Croaker.

"The old ways still work, sometimes," he said. "I need to know what you've got on the Potter boy. Rumour has it Scrimgeour's not happy with him."

"He isn't. He suspects a power surge the Ministry detected last night can be traced to Potter. He hasn't officially decided the manpower complement of the Ministry is worth using to go after the boy right now, but that could change if we can definitely prove that he is becoming magically powerful."

Mad-Eye kept his voice steady, but inwardly, his brain was working overtime, trying to remember if anyone else he had ever known had been able to cast magic that suddenly registered far greater in magnitude around the age of seventeen. The only one he could think of was Albus Dumbledore; none of the rest of the wizards and witches he'd known had experienced a _measurably_ large power surge.

"Give me details."

"There isn't much to say. The ministry detected four strong magical spells in Camden Town but couldn't localise the source. Scrimgeour and Hopkirk think it's because the sensor network isn't sensitive enough – and I go along with that reasoning to some extent. But an Unplottable property can also cause magic sensors to be unable to effectively register. Then a fifth magical spell blew the sensor network in that area, not five minutes after the original four, so the point is moot anyway. Because a surge of smaller magnitude registered in the area about two years ago, Scrimgeour suspects Dumbledore was involved back then – and if Dumbledore is involved in things, that usually means his Chosen One is involved, too."

The ex-Auror reflected that the extent of public perception as to the way Albus Dumbledore seemed to extend preference to Harry Potter could have been manipulated to scare You-Know-Who in Potter's fifth year, instead of using the boy as mushroom practice. It was common knowledge that You-Know-Who was only ever scared of one man, and he was now dead.

But in any case, keeping Harry in the dark and dumping a load of crap on him didn't work. The Order needed to get in touch with Harry Potter, if for no other reason than to get information to the boy about Scrimgeour's manoeuvrings.

"Hmph. Well, keep an eye out. What are you telling Scrimgeour?"

The Unspeakable shrugged and gulped back some more firewhiskey.

"In the end, we don't know anything more at the Department of Mysteries," he said. "I gave Scrimgeour a bit of a run-around at the meeting, but afterwards, off the record, I told him we don't have any information, since we're not in the business of monitoring magic sensors to catch a Muggleborn transforming a flowerpot into a cat."

"All right, then. Any word on the Dark Mark detectors?"

The conversation eased into other channels, but old Mad-Eye Moody was certain of one thing: Harry Potter had borne watching all his life, and now, he bore it even more so in the weeks leading to his legal maturity in the magical world.

**- - -**

Occlumency proved to be a challenge for Harry, as it turned out that "clearing one's mind" meant detaching oneself from everyday emotions, and trying to find a calm centre within oneself.

When Hermione mentioned that this sounded similar to some Muggle meditative arts, he tried integrating those techniques into his mind-clearing, although whether he was being at all successful, he didn't know.

He needed a competent, discreet Legilimens to do the testing, as Harry would be buggered if he would ever get Snape to help him with anything – except of course stepping into a special grave dug just for the former bane of his existence.

The house-elves had enthusiastically attacked the problem of making Grimmauld Place inhabitable, and the kitchen sparkled and shone, while the bedrooms changed from being dismal affairs to near-replicas of Gryffindor Tower's dorms. The old master bedroom, which Sirius had used, disturbed Harry somewhat.

He told himself it was just the fact that Dobby was showing off his redecoration efforts, all the while babbling such things as "we has removed the old drapes, Harry Potter sir. Oh, they has been infested with doxies, but house-elves is not hurt by doxies," or "we has removed the house-elf heads from the wall, Harry Potter sir, and we has sent them to be properly buried, sir. House-elves is not liking having their heads chopped off."

The room looked nice enough, but something felt a bit _off_ about it; Harry then realised that Dobby must have a rather special connection to him to have sensed some of his traits. The room was done in a mixed red/green motif, with Gryffindor red sheets and Slytherin green pillows, and alternating red, gold, green and silver motifs adorned the new carpeting.

He wondered if Hermione and Ron would be able to appreciate the fact that he acknowledged himself to be a bit of a hybrid between the Houses at Hogwarts, or if Ron, in particular, would just go spare and blow a gasket.

**- - -**

Mad-Eye Moody, having taken a Muggle taxicab to Camden Town late at night after flooing to Diagon Alley, grumbled over his unfamiliarity with Muggle currency (the taxi driver had started looking at him askance after getting a fifty pound note) as he attempted to unconcernedly pace about the neighbourhood. He was fortunate that there were few people about in the residential end of the place, although the rather sudden depressing fog that had enveloped the area shortly after dusk might have had something to do with it. An unseasonable siege of rain had struck the area for about an hour, but died out by the time the taxicab let Mad-Eye off.

He paced the area's wet pavement, quartering it street by winding street (not for the first time, he cursed the way London's streets were laid out with little regularity, and wondered whose brilliant idea _that_ was. It created innumerable opportunities for lack of constant vigilance to be a man's downfall), as his magical eye whirled about as he catalogued house after house.

_Patience is the hallmark of every good Auror_, echoed through his mind as he remembered his own training years before. His partner on a simulation test was a bit too antsy, and had bounced out from behind their shelter in a forest in the dead of night, to be "killed" by a vampire (actually, one of the simulation room's commanding officers under a glamour) who would have safely bypassed them if they had waited just ten more seconds.

The post-mortem on _that_ by their supervisor had been especially bruising for his partner, since they had been ordered to be aware of their surroundings to the fullest extent before launching their raid on the target's house. Patience had dictated they wait until night had fully settled, _and_ they keep watch for any dark creatures.

So much for that test mission!

Unfortunately for Mad-Eye, as he paced up a road whose sign indicated it was "Grimmauld Place", his eye swept from looking behind him to monitor the area in front of him just as two Dementors wafted up, hands, or what passed for such, outstretched as they prepared to sneak up behind the ex-Auror.

**- - -**

Harry Potter couldn't shake the bad feeling he had. He kept looking out the windows, realising with some discomfort that unseasonable fog was a possible precursor to a Dementor invasion, and even when he sat down, his leg would start bouncing of its own accord, revealing how nervous he was starting to get.

Finally, for lack of being able to concentrate as he attempted to read the Occlumency texts, he slammed shut the book he was attempting to read, slipped on his trainers, shoved his wand in the waistband of his trousers, and attempted to do some exercises on the cool grass, noting that the waxing three-quarters moon was visible.

It was in the middle of jogging in place that he noted, to his shock, that old Mad-Eye was stumping up the road, with two Dementors gliding along, still a hundred feet behind the man.

Gritting his teeth, wanting with every fibre of his being to save the man, but not yet wanting to reveal the Secret of Grimmauld Place, Harry thought, _God, Mad-Eye, turn AROUND! Use your Patronus!_ He tried to keep his mind away from memories of the green light and his mother's scream as he hastily slammed his Occlumency shields into place.

Even as the thought went through his mind, it seemed to signal the Dementors to rush forward, nearly upon the man now, and Harry instinctively leaped into the street, startling Mad-Eye as he bellowed, "_Expecto Patronum!_"

The silvery form that was Prongs sprung from his wand and made the Dementors flail about as they zoomed off into the sky to escape the sudden expression of positive emotion. It transpired that he was not a moment too late, for Mad-Eye's own Patronus, a rather spherical eye-like thing, joined Prongs to ensure that the Dementors left Camden Town for quite some time to come.

Harry, breathing heavily, pointed his wand and said, "Tell me what you told my Uncle after fifth year was over."

Mad-Eye's good eye seemed to un-squint just a little as he replied, "I said he looked like a man who could be intimidated. And as for you, when did you first meet me?"

"The real you? In your trunk at the end of my fourth year. I forget which compartment, but Dumbledore was with me."

"Good. Now that we've established _bona fides_, where the sodding hell have _you_ been?! You gave us the slip a couple of nights ago and Arabella's been just frantic ever since. As for me, you rousted me out from a cushy monitoring job and you've forced me to do some _real_ scouting for once, sonny! See what I get for not exercising CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Even as Harry, calming down from the crisis situation, feeling irritated at having to reveal himself, had to mentally grin at the man's repetition of his mantra.

"You were watching me again?"

"That we were. Even if the Ministry aren't keen anymore on arresting you, Scrimgeour's still just as bad as Fudge in some ways. We half-expected either Death Eaters to show up near your house, or for that arse who calls himself a Minister to show up to drag you off for some farce of a ceremony cementing an alliance between you and him – I tell you, I am _ashamed_ to call him a comrade of mine in the Auror service!"

Harry could not work up the feeling of outrage he thought he rather ought to be feeling at having had information kept from him again, and wearily said, "What are you doing, looking for me anyway?"

"Great Merlin, boy!" Harry unconsciously twitched at that appellation, and tried not to let it show as Moody rambled on. "Scrimgeour's all a-flutter because five magical surges registered in this area, and one of them blew the magical sensor network. He's convinced it has to do with you, and unless I miss my guess, he's half-inclined to consider you a threat instead of a potential ally. It occurs to me, Mr Potter, that the timing of those surges is _suspiciously_ well-correlated with the date of your departure from your house."

The younger wizard sighed and realised that the game was up; even so, he decided to see if he could still hold some of the cards.

"You do know, Mad-Eye, that you owe me a life-debt? Those Dementors were _seconds_ away from giving you the Kiss. And we've been seeing a fog all day today, so for all we know I helped you get rid of a Dementor breeding ground."

He could see the ex-Auror's mouth work as he seemed to realise that Harry Potter was not a naïve little boy any longer.

"Very well, Potter. You're getting sharper than you used to be. But for Merlin's sake don't tell me you're still putting that wand of yours in your back pocket. Men better than you have blown their buttocks off!"

Harry replied with a straight face, "Not if I point my wand _out_ of my pocket, sir."

Moody poked a finger at him as he said, "You mark my words, if you don't get a proper wand holster you'll blow _something_ off, and I'll just come to St Mungo's and lecture you for ten minutes after saying 'I told you so'. Now, where are you staying? Don't tell me you just happened to be wandering the area – I'm not _that_ daft."

Sighing, the teenager said in a monotone, "Harry Potter's House is at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."

He thought it worth all the Galleons in Gringotts to see old Mad-Eye's jaw drop a fraction as he saw the house materialise out of thin air.

"You–" he spluttered. "You and your two friends… you _broke a Fidelius_… you're not even seventh years! And to have established a _new_ one – bloody Circe! Unless I miss my guess that Granger woman helped you with this, didn't she?"

"Absolutely. Hermione figured out we could break the old _Fidelius_ because we knew the Secret, and because I own this place now. We destroyed the Foundation Runes of the old one, then we laid down new runes and I recast it with myself as Secret Keeper. She worked out the spell and everything."

The scarred wizard's look of appraisal seemed to be mixed with caution as he said, "Well, I'll be. I'm almost tempted to believe the Prophet and say you really _are_ the Chosen One."

"Don't mention that rag, please. They'll print anything."

A snort escaped Moody's mouth as he acknowledged that statement. "The magic detectors may not be working in this area, but I, for one, am not taking a chance on assuming that for sure. So, are you going to let me in or are we going to keep jabbering on the street while the Ministry try to find their arse with both hands in their robes?"

It was Harry's turn to snort as he mentally conjured that image. "We may as well. Come on in."

He led Mad-Eye up to the front door, and let the man into Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Author Notes:

Thanks go to **misfiredcanon** and **Maddevillechilde** for the beta work. :-)


	6. Chapter 6

**Vengeance Will Be Mine**  
Chapter 6

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

As Harry and Mad-Eye entered Grimmauld Place, they saw that Ron and Hermione were breathlessly waiting for them, apparently having just rushed from wherever they had been before. Hermione blurted, "Oh, _Harry!_ We heard you yelling outside and we were just at the window in time to see a pair of Dementors sent off to who-knows-where. We were just about to come and find out what was going on…"

Appeasingly, Harry said, "It's all right. I understand, Hermione. Look, have either of you got some chocolate?"

Ron grinned, saying, "Good thing I bought lots of chocolate frogs. Here, let me go get you two a couple of them."

Apparently happy to be useful, Ron was back in just a few moments, handing Harry and Mad-Eye a couple of chocolate frog cards each.

The foursome moved of their own accord into the kitchen, where Harry almost sprawled in a chair, absently chewing his chocolate frog, having easily caught it before it could jump away from him. He chucked the card onto the table, but just as Mad-Eye cast a half-dozen scanning charms on the glass of water he drew from the faucet, Harry happened to notice something unusual about the card.

Snatching it up, he saw that _he_ was on the card! His mouth went dry as he showed it to Ron and Hermione.

Ron said, "Mate, you've been blind if you haven't noticed these have been sold for about three months now, but given what you and Dumbledore were up to, plus following Malfoy around all the time, I guess you kind of missed the whole thing. Nobody at Hogwarts was going to mock you for it, not with the way you and Dumbledore seemed to be pretty close to each other again. Even Snape didn't act like a git about it."

Hermione beamed and read the card out loud, to Harry's acute embarrassment.

"_Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived and Chosen One._

"_Vindicated in 1996 regarding his assertions that You-Know-Who is back, the sixteen-year-old wizard already has several achievements to his name: destruction of You-Know-Who at the age of just a year old, Tri-Wizard Champion, and youngest Seeker in a century, playing Quidditch for the House of Gryffindor at Hogwarts. He is rumoured to be a supporter of the Chudley Cannons._

"Here, Ron, you collect the cards so here's Harry's for your collection."

Ron broke up laughing, and even Harry was hard-pressed to avoid a grin even as his face turned rather red. Mad-Eye grunted, swallowed his own chocolate frog and then washed it down with some water.

He stumped over to the table, sat down, and said, "Right, you three. I've already told Potter here some of what I know about the Ministry's doings, but here's the full rundown: first, when you redid the _Fidelius_ here, the magic was strong enough to register on the sensors that are usually used to check on underage magic. They serve the double purpose of noting the presence of any very strong magic, which is usually Dark in nature."

Hermione blurted, "Oh no! I shouldn't have had you cast the _Fidelius_, Harry."

Mad-Eye replied, "In his defence something like a Levitation Charm would probably have been ignored. Anyway, because you re-established the _Fidelius_ in time, and due to all the other protections and enchantments on this place, the Aurors and Obliviators found nothing, and Scrimgeour's in a right state over it. He's not a fool, though, and has worked out that Potter here is probably involved.

"Finally, you should know something about your friend's magical power – when Dumbledore put the _Fidelius_ on this place last time, it registered, but Fudge apparently didn't want the Aurors rushing about causing a panic when he was busy saying You-Know-Who hadn't come back, so it was ignored. When Potter here put the _Fidelius_ on, it registered off the charts and blew the magical sensor network in this area."

Ron and Hermione looked at Harry, impressed and surprised, while Harry ducked his head, blushing.

Hermione said, "Harry, do you remember when you managed to non-verbally cause all the books on the table in the library to not only rise off the table, but stack themselves neatly by your trunk? Your power increase must be on the verge of occurring!"

Harry, a bit gobsmacked, said, "Huh?"

Ron clarified. "Mate, it's like this. Around the age of seventeen, usually just after a seventeenth birthday, a wizard or witch gets an increase in power and control over his or her magic. That's partly why Mum's such a fantastic cook; she was already good at it when she was younger, but after she got out of school, she was even better at it. Hermione's already had hers, and I've noticed I got a bit better when Apparating since I turned seventeen."

Moody said, "As you see, for the most part it's a subtle increase in control and ability. But there are the rare cases where the power increase is noticeable: yours, Potter, and Dumbledore's, are the two cases that seem to fit."

Harry restrained the impulse to roll his eyes, but he couldn't help but resent the notion that once again, he was unusual and had to stand out from everybody else. He blurted, "But what about Voldemort?"

Ron's wince caused Hermione to smack him on the arm in irritation, as Mad-Eye shrugged, saying, "Could be. Dumbledore never said anything about it. Anyway, I like what you've done with the place. Where's that ugly old hag that used to annoy us?"

Harry laughed, saying, "Dobby got a kick out of telling me the story. Actually, why don't I get him to tell you?"

Mad-Eye shrugged, and Harry called, "Dobby!"

Dobby flashed into the kitchen, wearing two hats, one on top of the other, with a miniature scarf he scrounged up from somewhere. "Harry Potter sir! Dobby is happy to serve food if you is wishing food!"

"Actually, Dobby, can you tell Mad-Eye here about how you got rid of the painting of Mrs Black?"

Dobby's eyes glistened (whether in approbation or amusement, Harry couldn't tell), and he began. "Dobby is having Winky clean the bedrooms while Dobby is looking at the painting, which is shouting but Dobby is not hearing it because of the Silencing Charm. Dobby is removing the Silencing Charm and hearing the painting shouting for the bad house-elf Kreacher.

"Dobby is telling Mrs Black that Kreacher is a _bad_ house-elf and ought to be given _clothes_, Harry Potter sir. Mrs Black is becoming even more furious, and Dobby is realising a Sticking Charm is holding the painting. Dobby calls for Winky, and we uses house-elf magic to remove the wall behind the painting. Then we sends the painting and the wall to Hogwarts, after we is telling Mrs Black that we is burning her up if we is hearing that she is telling secrets about this place. Of course, Dobby is also making sure that she cannot talk by gagging Mrs Black."

Harry laughed, saying, "That was just as brilliant the second time you told me, Dobby! You put the wall back to rights, I hope."

Dobby nodded, making the hats flop every which way. "Oh yes! We has fixed the wall and now there is no painting!"

Mad-Eye grunted, "Huh. Not every day you hear about a kid getting two house-elves for free. Well, three if you count Kreacher, but that little bastard was never good for much of anything. Now why don't you show me around your library? I never paid much attention to it when I was here before."

**- - -**

Mad-Eye had been suitably impressed by Harry's decision to learn Occlumency, while his eye whizzed over the other books Harry had left out. After Ron and Hermione went back to researching protective enchantments and wards (moving upstairs to their rooms to do so), Mad-Eye got Harry alone near the front door for a moment.

"Interesting reading material there, Potter. Didn't think you had it in you."

Harry wasn't sure what Mad-Eye was going on about, and guardedly said, "Well, I need to learn how to protect my mind and stuff."

"Not so much that. I noticed you got a copy of the banned book by Hogan Thistlethwaite."

_Oh, shit,_ thought Harry.

Tonks had warned him about that one – she had said not to let people see Dark Rituals, Hexes and Curses, because it was one of the few books the Ministry explicitly banned because of some of the rituals at the back of the book to increase one's ability to use Dark magic. It had been sheer luck Tonks even got a copy; the seller on Knockturn Alley only sold it for as low as he did because he was Russian and didn't know the British wizarding laws very well. She had also said, "Harry, I only got this for you because some of these might be how You-Know-Who increased his power so much, and you'll need to know what he did in order to counter it."

Harry, a bit worried, rushed to answer. "Er, Mad-Eye, I can explain—"

Smirking, the old ex-Auror said, "Eh, don't worry about it. I'm not required to enforce the law anymore, and frankly, with the Old Man dead, I think the gloves have come off, haven't they?"

Harry nodded grimly.

"Good. Here's a quick little spell I picked up off some Death Eaters in the last war. It's a pretty nasty one, because it clamps the blood vessels to a person's heart for about five to ten seconds. In older people, it'll induce a heart attack, and even in a young, fit person it can make the person panic because of the sudden pain."

Harry's eyes widened as he said, "Wow."

"'Wow' is right, young man. You're almost seventeen, and you're an adult in my books already. It's a quick one. You extend your wand, give it a little flick upwards then do a half-circle like so, and say 'cruor vas premo'."

Harry muttered, "Cruor vas premo. Got it. Thanks."

"I've got to go for the moment, but rest assured I'll be back."

Harry got a brainwave and said, "Mad-Eye, you'll keep me informed about the Ministry's doings, won't you?"

Mad-Eye scratched his jaw, saying slowly, "Yeah, I suppose... well, you've earned the right to gather your own intelligence, I'd say. Plus I owe you a life-debt, don't I?"

"Thanks. How much do you know about my Occlumency in fifth year?"

"Not all that much. Dumbledore just said at an Order meeting summer before your sixth year that for the time being, we accomplished the objective of keeping You-Know-Who out of your head, but he said it wasn't the best way he'd have chosen, when he looked back."

Bitterly, Harry said, "Would have been nice for him to tell me he had a back-up plan to make Voldemort Occlude me from his end. Anyway, he had Snape trying to teach me Occlumency, but it just didn't work out. I'm learning it – or trying to – so I can keep people from poking into my head. I have to get someone who can test it for me. Can you help?"

"Mmf. Well, as soon as I find a competent and discreet Legilimens, I'll let you know. Anyway, I've got to go."

"Thanks again, Mad-Eye."

The old man _crack_ed away, Disapparating. Harry trudged upstairs, to find that Ron and Hermione were looking askance at the redecoration scheme Dobby had chosen for the master bedroom. This was the first time that day that they'd been able to come see the bedrooms.

Warily, Ron said, "Mate, what's this? Our bedrooms are all gold and red, just like Gryffindor Tower. But yours has all these Slytherin bits in it. What's Dobby playing at?"

Harry sighed, and ushered his friends into the room.

"Now's as good a time to tell you as any. Do you remember my Sorting?"

Both his friends nodded.

"I never told you, or anyone, except Dumbledore, but..."

Harry took a deep breath, and said firmly, "The Hat wanted to place me in Slytherin."

Ron was the one who, Harry thought a bit unkindly, predictably exploded. "_WHAT?! _That's a lie, that is. A stinking lie, Harry! Slytherin are a bunch of backstabbers, they are, and you're telling me you'd have been one of them? Did Hermione Confund you or something?"

Before Harry could defend his statements, Hermione shouted, "_Ronald Weasley!_ That is absolutely not true, and you know it. Confund Harry, indeed. Honestly! And you know as well as I do that the Hat has considered other Houses than the ones announced," and here Hermione spoke archly, "or did you forget that I said the Hat could have put me in Ravenclaw?"

Ron, backpedalling, said, "Er, well, yeah! You study loads, and you submit every homework assignment and get a hundred and twenty percent on every exam, Hermione, so that makes you Ravenclaw-like. But... but Harry's not Slytherin-like!"

Harry, having had his fill of Ron's denials, spoke sharply. "_Really_, Ron? You mean I didn't manipulate Slughorn by using my dead mother to get him to give me up a memory Dumbledore wanted? I didn't stack the odds unfairly in my favour, did I? Oh, wait! I did! I took _Felix Felicis_! And I shamelessly got him drunk in the process, too. That sounds like it has Malfoy written all over it, doesn't it?

"I didn't use a Potions textbook with Snape's notes in it to get better grades with no knowledge of the theory of Potions to understand why they worked better? The stereotypical Gryffindor would have been too _honest_ to keep using them.

"Or how about all the times I've got information out of Hagrid by taking advantage of his tendency to blurt things out without thinking? There's another Slytherin stereotype, too – taking advantage. I don't _act_ as Gryffindor as some of you. I've attacked you before at your weak spots when I've been angry. It's not something I'm proud of right now, but if you think back, you'll realise this. Shit, I did it to Dudley a couple of summers ago, when I mocked him with the way my Aunt dotes on him and calls him those dumb names.

"Look, I'm a... a hybrid. I don't know if it's because of how I grew up, or because of this—" Harry pointed at his scar "—but it's the way I am. And admitting the truth about myself and embracing those aspects which are Slytherin as well as those which are Gryffindor... well, that's what I've got to do if I want to win. I decided on the train ride back that I needed to be totally honest with myself and my nature is one of them."

A very subdued Ron Weasley left the room without another word, while Hermione smiled commiseratingly and softly said, "It's getting very late, Harry. I'll see you in the morning."

**- - -**

The next day, the trio mostly spoke civilly among themselves, but Harry could sense the definite chill on Ron's part, and sighed mentally as he waited for Ron to get over his latest bout of jealousy and uncertainty as to where his place was in the world.

After breakfast was finished, Harry said, "Right. I think it's time we started checking into this R.A.B. thing. I keep getting the feeling it's something blatantly obvious, like it's been staring me in the face for two years now – almost like it has something to do with the pureblood family linkages, how they're interrelated."

Hermione said, "Well, on that note—"

She heaved a large book onto the table, and Harry and Ron couldn't help but grin at each other, albeit a bit awkwardly.

She pointed at the cover, which read _Pure-Blood Ancestral Register_.

"Obviously, I'm not in here," smirked Hermione ironically. "However, I checked, and you certainly are, Ron. Your ancestry goes back almost to the time of the Founders. It's self-updating. Oddly, given how fanatical some pure-bloods are about ancestry and such, this book does not strike off disowned relatives, half-bloods, or marriages to Muggleborns. But the register _will_ indicate right there if the person is a pure-blood or not. You're in here, Harry, in the 'Potter' section, as a half-blood, for example.

"Now, if I pull up the Black family, I see we have Nymphadora Tonks and Andromeda Tonks, and you told me once, Harry, that Mrs Black blasted them off the Black Family Tree. Sirius is also in here, listed as... oh, _Harry!_"

Hermione's shock was evident as the entry stated, "Recently deceased. Declared innocent of crimes committed in 1981 by order of Minister Scrimgeour."

Bitterly, Harry growled, "Gee, the bastard couldn't have told me that at Christmas or after Dumbledore's funeral? What a conniving shite. I bet he kept that in reserve to try and manipulate me at a later time."

Hermione, lost in thought for a moment, said, "Well, it makes sense. The Ministry have gone fifteen years saying Sirius Black was V-Voldemort's right-hand man. Then more recently, denied Voldemort's return, and only recently recognised his existence. Openly pronouncing this would mean an embarrassment to the Ministry, so they've just quietly voided all the charges and processed his will.

"Anyway, look here – he has a brother. Regulus... Arcturus..." she trailed off in realisation.

Harry hissed, "Black! _Of course!_"

He jumped up, ran to the drawing room with the Black Family Tree in it, and pointed. "Right there! RIGHT SODDING THERE! See? There's his name, died 1980. If I'd remembered this we'd have probably got the bloody Horcrux by now! KREACHER! GET IN HERE NOW!"

The house-elf popped before them so swiftly that Ron and Hermione barely had a chance to react.

"What does Master no-good half-blood want?"

"You keep your foul insults to yourself, Kreacher. Did you ever see a locket like this one?"

Harry dangled the worthless one in front of the house-elf, whose eyes widened. "Kreacher has seen one like that before, he has! Bad Mundungus Fletcher was here one time, taking Mistress's possessions. Kreacher was most angry when he saw the smelly thief taking Master's locket, the one Master worked so hard to keep for the Black family."

Harry blurted, "Wait! Regulus Black left it here? In this house?"

"Master Regulus told Kreacher to keep the locket safe. When Master Regulus did not return, Kreacher made sure to polish the locket and keep it safe, but when Master Sirius began throwing things out, Kreacher took it back and saved it. Then smelly Fletcher took the locket, and Kreacher took it back, he did."

Trying to tamp down his excitement, Harry said, "And where is it now?"

"Kreacher has kept it at Hogwarts, in the Come and Go Room."

Ron blurted, "Bloody hell! The Room of Requirement!"

Harry said, firmly, "Go and get that locket, Kreacher. I am commanding you in the name of continuing Regulus's mission."

Warily, Kreacher hunched over a bit, saying, "Kreacher thinks Master is lying. Kreacher thinks Master does not want to take care of the locket."

Exasperated, Harry said, "Since I am your Master, I am giving you a _direct order_ to get that locket and bring it here. NOW."

"Kreacher thinks Master Regulus would not be happy to have a half-blood touching Slytherin's precious locket. Kreacher thinks he will leave the locket where it is."

At that, Harry's patience began to unravel, and with it, some of his magic began to let itself loose. Without really noticing that his hair was fluttering in a wind his magic was inducing, he roared in a burst of anger, as his magic _pushed_ at everything around him, "GET THAT FUCKING LOCKET NOW, KREACHER, OR SO HELP ME I'LL FEED YOU TO THE GIANT SQUID!"

At that, a burst of light left Harry's hands and blasted into Kreacher, sending the house-elf sliding along the floor. The wind abruptly died, and Harry, gasping for breath, looked at his friends, who looked back at him fearfully.

Hermione said, "Harry! _Please_ be careful! Your wild magic nearly hurt us, and you almost killed Kreacher with it!"

Ron, his arm now around Hermione's shoulders, said in mixed awe and concern, "Yeah, mate. You've got to watch what you're doing there. Wild magic's not common, but it usually comes when you get really mad like that."

Harry, calming down, remembered that the sensations he'd just had were similar to the time when he'd blown up Aunt Marge. He looked at Kreacher, who was trembling and bowing. "Kreacher?"

"Kreacher will do as Master says! Kreacher does not wish to be harmed by Master's magic again."

The ancient house-elf _finally_ did as told, returning with Slytherin's locket, after which he placed the locket gently on the floor, backing away from it.

Harry's scar pricked just a bit, and he nodded at his friends. "It's real."

Hermione abruptly conjured a bag, carefully levitated the locket into it, then sealed the bag.

Harry said, "Kreacher, go back to Hogwarts. Do not tell anyone what you did today."

The house-elf popped away, and Harry grinned, yelling, "Yes! We got one!"

All arguments and fights forgotten, the trio clasped hands, and did a silly dance around the room. For the first time in a month, Harry felt they had finally made a concrete accomplishment. There was still a long ways to go, but the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.

**- - -**

Later that day, however, they were stumped. Ron said, "How the bloody hell do you destroy a Horcrux? Basilisk fangs don't exactly come ready-made and I doubt you can stab the locket and put the venom into it like you did with the diary, Harry."

Hermione, who had consulted several books, was equally at a loss. "The best I can think of would be a Dementor's Kiss, but I'm not very keen on finding a Dementor and hoping it'll Kiss the locket and not one of us."

They all shuddered at the thought.

Harry said, "Anything else. Hermione?"

"Well, aside from uncontrolled physical destruction of the object – something I don't recommend because of what you mentioned about Dumbledore's hand, I can't think of anything."

Harry decided to take the plunge. "I say use the Killing Curse at it."

Two voices simultaneously blurted, "_WHAT?!_"

Ron, looking a bit worried, said, "Are you off your rocker, mate? That's an Unforgivable! And if the false Mad-Eye was right, you need a lot of intent to do it. It's not like saying 'Wingardium Leviosa', you know."

Hermione, frowning slightly, chimed in. "I agree with Ron. Harry, it's not a good idea. It really isn't. You... well, you have to _want_ to do it and we know what kind of people usually end up using it."

Harry sarcastically said, "Yeah. Gee, I wonder – maybe _Death Eaters_? I know, Hermione. But what else have we got that's capable of doing it?"

Hermione was still shaking her head. "I don't think we should even be discussing Unforgivable Curses like this. It's not like we've got much experience anyway."

Harry would later look back and wonder why he had felt so reckless, but at the time he didn't care. "Oh, really? I guess the fact that I've tried the Cruciatus twice doesn't mean anything, then."

Ron's jaw dropped as Hermione, who'd stood up to pace the floor while pondering Horcrux destruction, sat down heavily on a chair. A bit defensive at the appalled silence, Harry blurted, "Oh, come _on_! You have to want to _mean_ the curse to do it. I couldn't hold it on Lestrange for more than a few seconds, because supposedly righteous anger isn't enough. And when I tried it on Snape he stopped me before I could finish it. So technically I've only attempted it once."

In a very small voice, Hermione said, "Harry, this... it's not a good idea. Look, if it helps I don't think any less of you for having used that curse, as you were under tremendous stress at the time. But... can we change the subject please?"

Ron chimed in by saying, "Yeah. Um, I don't think I'd want to do it to anyone, even Snape. But maybe there's a way to just make the soul leave the Horcrux? Maybe it'll merge back with You-Know-Who and he'll be mad because his soul's all put back together, sort of, instead of being happy about it, and you'll be able to kill him then, with Gryffindor's sword or something."

The tense silence was broken by Hermione's giggle, followed by Harry's deeper chuckle, as he said, "Oh, brilliant, Ron! He's the only one who'd be upset by that."

They decided to turn back to reading the Defence against the Dark Arts books, and Harry decided to mentally file away the fact that Hermione never actually said a Killing Curse on a Horcrux _wouldn't_ work.

_- - -  
_

True to his word, Mad-Eye Moody returned that night. In a quick aside to Harry as he stumped inside the door, he said, "Got an Unspeakable from the Ministry who'll keep his mouth shut. You might have heard of Croaker. He's a good 'un. Anyway, where are your friends?"

Harry chuckled, saying, "Well, for once they're not reading or studying. I saw Ron and Hermione playing some wizard chess, actually."

"Good. There's enough room in the yard, if I remember correctly, to get a little practical duelling in. Now, for now I'll let you get away with verbal spells but I want to see you using some nonverbal ones in the near future. And don't, for God's sake, use that hex I told you about. The counter, by the way, is not a _Finite_; that'd be too easy. It's 'cruor vas patefacio', and the wand movement is a jab at the recipient.

"The main objective here is to get you used to the fighting psychology of wizards. Obviously if you're fighting Death Eaters they're not going to be nice and formal like a real duel – oh, no, you've seen how they fight already. So the challenge is just as much to get out of the way of a spell as it is to shield against one. Right – time's a-wasting. Tell your friends where you are, and we'll get moving."

"Right – RON! HERMIONE! I'm going outside into the yard with Mad-Eye!"

Ron stuck his head into the hallway and said, "All right, but for Merlin's sake, mate, get back in as soon as you can!"

With that, the old Auror and his protégé went onto the grassy area just in front of the house, and fairly soon the air was thick with jinxes and hexes, which only confused Muggles in the area if they happened to see something like a firework shoot high into the air. The one police report filed regarding the incident was dismissed as teenagers amusing themselves, and before long, it was utterly forgotten.

**- - -**

Antonin Dolohov was not having a very good day.

That morning he'd woken up at headquarters, hearing the Malfoy brat's snivelling voice in the room down the hall contrasting with Snape's icy, modulated tones. The thrust of the discussion was that if Draco Malfoy didn't keep his mouth shut and follow orders, Draco Malfoy would learn the meaning of the Imperius curse.

If that hadn't been bad enough (Dolohov had devoutly wished Snape would Imperius that brat already), Wormtail's version of snivelling came up as he entered the Dark Lord's main meeting room, waiting for orders. It transpired that Wormtail wanted to sneak into the Weasley residence again on the off chance that Potter would show up, but the Dark Lord was having none of it.

Twirling his wand absently in his fingers, he lectured with an overexaggerated air of patience. "Wormtail, you are being daft. More than likely they will have enhanced the protections on their residence, specifically with respect to Animagi."

His voice changed, and grew sharp and cold. "Now, if you don't _shut up_, you will be my next Cruciatus target."

Menacingly, the Dark Lord pointed his wand, and Wormtail had the good grace to quit whining about taking some kind of mission. It was blatantly clear to Dolohov that the Dark Lord didn't trust Wormtail farther than the confines of the room. Then again, even Bellatrix Lestrange wasn't exactly in the Dark Lord's good graces. Nobody was, really.

The culmination of his very bad day was, after having to endure two different Death Eaters acting like the weakest Muggles they'd tortured for fun, the Dark Lord turned to him and said, "Dolohov. Take Flint here and go into Muggle London. Round up some Dementors; they should be breeding rather handily by now."

_Of all the worst assignments, I had to get this one_, groused Dolohov even as he schooled his features into bland acceptance. He simply bowed to the Dark Lord, gestured to Marcus Flint, and left the room.

Dementor detail wasn't something any Death Eater looked forward to, and he knew he'd been getting more than his usual share. But then again, the Dark Lord had chosen to spring him from Azkaban, apparently deliberately choosing to leave Lucius Malfoy behind. Draco's bitter, poisonous glance at Dolohov on his return had been amusing. The stories that circulated among Slytherin alumni about the brat's inability to quit acting like a spoiled child were manifold.

As for his escape from Azkaban – it had been an easy enough job, Snape providing the polyjuice that a Death Eater used to impersonate the Auror guard going to the island, after which the polyjuiced guard hit the six escorting wizards with a compulsion hex to desert him to take a break in the guard quarters. After that, it was short work to have Dolohov stunned, and returned to headquarters. He learned afterwards that he'd been transfigured into a decorative bracelet for the guard's trip off Azkaban before being revived on the mainland, and his insides still crawled at the notion that he could have spent the rest of his life as someone's useless bauble.

But Muggle London – just being around the Muggles made his hand twitch for his wand, even as he had to keep Flint from stepping off the pavement into the roadways. Flint was a fairly promising Death Eater as far as their ranks went, but even so, lack of exposure to the Muggle world could cause problems.

Not for the first time, Antonin Dolohov remarked to himself that it was ironic that a Death Eater should have to accustom himself to the Muggle world in some respects, else their fast-moving carriages were liable to cause mayhem when colliding with someone. He shrugged off any further introspection as he briefly cast a location spell, and noted with some perplexity that the area, having been revealed as being ripe for Dementor activity a few weeks ago, now was quite clear of them. Perhaps a wizard had come into the area and cast a Patronus?

His heart quickened as he whispered, "Flint! Stay with me. We might come across a wizard or witch – perhaps a Ministry operative casting Patronuses. I will decide if we have to kill the person or not. Understood?"

Flint nodded, his eyes shining at the thought of his first kill.

They tramped down the road designated as Grimmauld Place, and noted with only idle curiosity that numbers eleven and thirteen seemed to appear next to each other.

At that moment, the world exploded.

**- - -**

Mad-Eye had just nailed Harry with an impressive whip-like spell which let him yank the boy off his feet, when the man abruptly stood stock-still, gesturing violently at Harry to stand next to him. Harry nodded nervously, got up off the ground, wincing only slightly at the renewed bruise on his arse, and stood next to Mad-Eye as he tried to remain alert to everything on the street in the gathering twilight.

Moody whispered, "Someone magical tripped a perimeter ward I set before I came to get you. The land being Unplottable won't keep all the sound out, and a wizard hearing it would guess at the truth. Constant vigilance, Potter!"

At that moment, Mad-Eye's swivelling artificial eye froze in place as he muttered, "Dolohov – and I think it's that Flint kid. Saw him briefly in your fourth year."

Harry nodded, remembering Dolohov's dangerous purple curse he still didn't know the name of.

Mad-Eye held up his fingers, currently indicating "three".

Two.

One.

Flint and Dolohov just stepped into the field of view on the pavement as Mad-Eye's fist clenched. Harry bounced forward, shouting the blood-vessel-closing hex as he did the wand movements at Flint.

"_Cruor vas premo!_"

The effect was instantaneous, as Flint's eyes barely had a chance to widen in recognition of Harry before he clutched his chest and fell to his knees. Harry ended things by snarling, "_Repulsar_," the light from the hex smashing into Flint's face and sending him some ten feet away, onto the grass at Grimmauld Place.

Mad-Eye, meanwhile, was sparring with Dolohov, parrying hexes and curses fluidly and swiftly.

Harry almost lost himself in admiration of the spellwork involved, before he remembered this was a real battle. Swiftly, he snapped his wand at Dolohov, thinking, "_Levicorpus!_"

Just as the man flipped upside down, dropping his wand in surprise, Mad-Eye hit Dolohov with the Body-bind, followed by _incarcerous_.

"Good work, lad! Could have been a bit quicker on the draw, but two against one is always better than one against one. Let's get these scum off the street."

Harry smirked at the double meaning, and flicked his wand again, thinking, "_Liberacorpus._"

Dolohov flopped gracelessly to the ground, upon which Mad-Eye took the opportunity to stun the Death Eater and drag him onto the grass, away from Muggles' prying eyes.

He cast a glance over at Flint, and said, "The boy's dead. What did you do?"

Harry gulped, his instincts warring as he felt the sense of accomplishment and his sense of guilt compete for supremacy. "Well... um, I hit Flint with that curse you told me about, and then hit him with an advanced Repulsing Hex I read about. Um, I didn't think it would kill him, honestly..."

"Mmf. Between the shock to his system from that blood-vessel spell and the fact that you broke his neck with the Repulsing Hex, I'm not surprised."

Shocked, Harry blurted, "I did _what_?"

"Broke his neck. Casualty of war, I'm afraid. What do you want to do with this one?"

Moody gave Dolohov's body a sharp kick, and Harry said, "What's he got on him?"

"Scanned him earlier when I pulled him off the pavement. Emergency portkey in his boot, spare wand in his cloak."

An idea burst into Harry's head, and he said, "_Accio _spare wand!"

As advertised, a nondescript black wand zoomed towards Harry, who grabbed it and stuck it in his back pocket, smirking at Mad-Eye. He stood over Dolohov and made three quick strokes with his wand, saying "_Diffindo_" each time, then snarled, "_Ennervate!_"

As soon as Dolohov's eyes opened, Harry said, "This is for Hermione. _Sectumsempra!_"

Blood gushed from the man's wounds as Mad-Eye, taking stock of the situation, said, "Activate the portkey, then?"

Harry nodded, the blood still pounding through his veins. "We'll send a message."

Moody flicked his wand, and the man's body vanished. He cast an inquisitive glance at Harry, who replied, "I picked up that spell from an old book of Snape's, actually. It'll kill someone unless Snape's there to treat it, since you're supposed to use dittany. Don't ask how I know all this. It's not something I want to think about right now."

He looked down at the grass, biting his lip a bit.

Moody stared at Harry, saying, "Lad, I won't deny I'm a little bit troubled by your actions. Carving a lightning-bolt scar into the man's forehead, and then sending him back to his certain death seems a bit out of character for you... well, it's war, but it's been my intention to always take them _alive_ if possible. I didn't argue with you during that little bit with Dolohov, but that doesn't mean I approve of everything you did there. The most important rule of the game is you back your partner up, and have it out with him or her after the fact. Never argue in front of the enemy. It wastes time."

Harry realised his whole body was shaking.

"Aye, lad, you're getting the shakes. Go on in. I'll see if the Ministry caught any of this. We'll deal with everything tomorrow. I'll take care of Flint here, too."

Harry nodded jerkily, staggering up the stairs to enter the house.

The thought that kept running through his mind was, _I killed two people today_.

* * *

Author Notes:

Thanks go to **misfiredcanon** and **Maddevillechilde** for their help with this chapter. :)

As well I'd like to thank **bellerophon30** for allowing me to use his spell in my fanfic.

As always, concrit is welcome. Let me know how I'm doing with this :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Vengeance Will Be Mine**  
Chapter 7

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Lord Voldemort's Dementor management program was rather inconveniently cut short when Antonin Dolohov materialised via Portkey in the main meeting room at the Riddle mansion, bleeding through the ropes that confined him, with a rather noticeable scar on his forehead.

He tried casting a few basic healing spells, then noticed the cuts weren't closing very well. He bellowed, "SEVERUS! Get up here!"

Within a few seconds, Severus Snape was standing near Dolohov, and only a minor tightening of his lips revealed any reaction to the scene.

Irritated, Voldemort growled, "Well? Can you treat him, or shall we write this down to a lucky attack by the Chosen One?"

Snape's eyes flicked to the scar inscribed on Dolohov's forehead. He vanished the ropes, examining the dying man's body more closely. As the man apparently realised what spell had been used on the man, his expression hardened, and he said, "It is too late, my Lord. I lack the dittany needed to treat him for this particular curse."

Disgusted at the situation, Voldemort said, "Leave me, Severus. I wish to meditate upon the sudden change in our erstwhile opponent."

As Severus Snape left the room again, Antonin coughed out something unintelligible. Voldemort angrily decided enough was enough, and pointed his wand.

"_Avada Kedavra._"

After the green light flared over Dolohov's body, he bellowed again. "Yaxley!"

The Death Eater rushed in, saying, "Yes, my Lord?"

"Get rid of this rubbish on the floor. It's disturbing my thinking."

Voldemort abruptly turned away, staring at the fireplace as he absently twirled his wand in his fingers. _Why was Harry Potter suddenly besting his Death Eaters?_

Severus Snape had been voluble on the subject of Harry Potter, reciting a laundry list of strengths, weaknesses, home location, likely alternates, and so on and so forth. Given the nearly-obsessive level of detail presented to him, Voldemort had almost given himself to wondering if perhaps the man had secretly fathered the boy with Lily Potter, but dismissed that thought as being far too unlikely to be more than wild speculation.

Underlining all of Snape's assertions had been a basic picture of a boy who was still magically untrained, mentally undisciplined and certainly one not fit to take on the mantle of "Chosen One", regardless of what those idiots at the Daily Prophet might say to sell copy.

And yet—

Antonin Dolohov had been seriously injured with a dark curse, and Marcus Flint was missing. It stood to reason that perhaps they had stumbled across the Potter brat and his friends, but that didn't account for the fact that when he tentatively opened his Occlumency against the boy, he sensed nothing unusual – no great pain as would have been the case after the Potter brat got a Cruciatus curse for his trouble, followed by a sudden lucky break in dispatching Dolohov.

Hurriedly snapping his Occlumency back into place, he wondered if perhaps Severus was not as dispassionate a spy as he appeared to be. His hatred of James Potter had been an easy enough hook to bring the man into his ranks years ago, but his feelings about Lily Potter had never been well-elucidated. Wormtail, however, had made enough snidely oblique comments regarding Snape's interactions with the woman to make Voldemort wonder if Severus was wilfully blinding himself to the boy's capabilities for purely personal reasons.

In that case, perhaps it _would_ be useful to send a certain rat on a mission or two.

"Wormtail! Get in here!"

Voldemort smirked at seeing the rat-like man quivering before him, and said conversationally, "I do believe I am going to dispatch you on a mission – _but _not to the Weasley residence. I want you to scurry about Diagon Alley, and have a look at those prankster twins you mentioned before. Their shop is bound to be less well-protected than the Weasley residence. I have a feeling our Mister Potter will be dealing with them soon."

**- - -**

Severus Snape clattered back downstairs, having forced Draco Malfoy to assist him in preparing a complex potion for the Dark Lord.

After hearing his master's bellow, he had wordlessly glared and pointed at the cauldron. The blond's weak nod was all he needed as he raced upstairs from the basement of the manor house, to find Dolohov inconveniently dying on the stone floor and the Dark Lord looking fairly displeased.

Seeing Potter's handiwork was… annoying. The brat not only had the nerve to keep using _his_ spells, but _had_ to go and provoke the Dark Lord with that ridiculous carving on Dolohov's head. Well, Merlin knew the boy would get what was coming soon enough – meantime, he and Draco were overdue on some of the potions the Dark Lord wanted, and neither of them felt like running the risk of a Cruciatus curse for falling behind.

**- - -**

Gawain Robards sat in the Minister's office, trying to resist smirking at that overstuffed peacock, Pius Thicknesse. The man wasn't an incompetent Auror, Robards conceded – but the man was far too interested in playing the usual stupid pure-blood political games and kissing arse at Ministerial functions.

Robards would even bet his entire account at Gringotts that the only reason Thicknesse even became an Auror at all was because it was a long-standing unwritten policy that the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was in the line of succession to the office of Minister for Magic – and if Rufus Scrimgeour were ever to be incapacitated or assassinated, one Pius Thicknesse would be only too glad to slip into the job as Acting Minister, and make it permanent as soon as he could.

But that wasn't going to happen. He and Scrimgeour, they were two men of the same cloth; they'd both Sorted Hufflepuff while that idiot Thicknesse was a Slytherin, and they were half-bloods of sorts, Scrimgeour's grandmother being a Muggleborn and Gawain's grandfather being a Muggle.

It was in the bag, and all he had to do was avoid crowing over Thicknesse as Rufus went through the motions.

Scrimgeour began, saying, "Good morning, gentlemen. It has come to my attention that I need a new Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Now, I have you two both lobbying me for the job, and while I've worked with you both, let's pretend I don't know either of you except for your service records—" he held up a pair of folios "—and have to evaluate you on what you say today. So, to be absolutely fair, I'll flip a Sickle, and if the serial number side is up, you'll speak first, Robards – otherwise it's Thicknesse."

The two candidates nodded, and Scrimgeour flipped the coin. It landed serial number down.

Pius Thicknesse practically _preened_, much to Gawain's disgust. The man spoke mellifluously and expansively.

"As you know, Minister, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement must be seen as being an impartial arbiter of the wizarding laws, while at the same time reassuring the public that all will be well. In these times of war, with You-Know-Who on the move, I believe it would serve the wizarding world well to appoint a pure-blood to the position, so that the pure-blood community will feel reassured and safe, that this Ministry will hear their concerns. After all, are they not the most subject to scrutiny by You-Know-Who?

After a breath, Thicknesse concluded by saying, "In short, Minister, I offer political _and_ law enforcement experience together, which I feel would be helpful in the present circumstances."

The bastard even did a little half-bow. Gawain had never wanted to leave someone's presence so badly since he'd once done guard duty for Gilderoy Lockhart at the Witch Weekly-sponsored book signing in 1989. Hell, even Lockhart never mastered the ability to strut while sitting down.

Still… he couldn't fault the man's apparent earnestness. He couldn't say just _why_ he distrusted Pius Thicknesse. Being a Slytherin didn't mean his ambition to become Minister for Magic was _bad_. It just meant that he might end up being another Cornelius Fudge. But it could also mean another Dolores Umbridge; he repressed a shudder as he remembered the rumours about her that floated around after Dumbledore became Chief Warlock again. Thank Merlin the Minister would undoubtedly appoint _him_ instead.

Minister Scrimgeour said, "Thank you, Pius. And now you, Gawain."

"I believe I offer the advantage of administrative experience as Senior Auror, and have liaised with other divisions within Magical Law Enforcement as a kind of acting Head since Amelia Bones died. In short, I believe I am the natural successor to the position, and would be able to smoothly liaise with other Departments within the Ministry as well as just the divisions of MLE. My service record shows several arrests of dark wizards under very tricky conditions, some who even escaped other Aurors or Hit Wizards for quite some time prior to finally being arrested. This, I believe, attests to my ability to focus on my assigned tasks and not be distracted by, shall we say, extraneous considerations."

He didn't do the half-bow thing, but he did notice the slight quirk of Scrimgeour's eyebrows; the man had caught his hint that he believed Thicknesse needed to be kept out of the way of easily being able to become Minister for Magic.

Scrimgeour nodded and said, "Thank you both for excellent – and short – statements about why you believe you are the best for the job. On balance, I believe I need a Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who is keen to keep his eye on Death Eaters and other hangers-on in the criminal element. I believe I have that in you, Gawain Robards. Please relocate your offices, and I'll be in touch regarding the announcement I'll make in the Daily Prophet."

With considerable difficulty at tamping down his excitement, Gawain stood up, shook hands with Scrimgeour, then left the office to begin moving out of the Senior Auror's room – but he hadn't missed the look of very ill grace that Pius Thicknesse wore. He made a note to warn the Minister that there seemed to be more at stake than just a vain man's desire to vault himself into a prestigious job.

- - -

Pius Thicknesse couldn't _believe_ the sop that clot of a Minister was giving him. Senior Auror, _indeed_. He'd been so sure Scrimgeour would just naturally recognise that his extensive political connections, and his ability to play the pure-blood game, would make him an ace in the hole when it came to getting the job of Head of DMLE, but _no_, that _Robards_, with that absolutely uncouth name, got the job.

It was time to start making some more allies in the Ministry and among the Wizengamot, and he thought he knew the perfect place to start – in locating that young Selwyn he'd met at a Ministry function a few years ago. Pure-blooded, and reasonably well-established as an old family, the man would make a good ally in influencing members of the Wizengamot to perhaps look askance on Scrimgeour's record.

And then perhaps he could become Minister for Magic directly, instead of faffing about in Magical Law Enforcement, being held back by his social inferiors.

* * *

Author Notes:

I apologize for the shortness of this chapter. I really had to struggle to put these pieces together, as it were, with angles that might advance the plot in some way. The Trio will be taken up next chapter, and I promise to make it a good long one. :)

Also, although I've labelled this fic as AU to TDH, I've borrowed some names from that novel - most notably the very amusing Pius Thicknesse. :P

Thanks go to **misfiredcanon** and **Maddevillechilde** for the beta work. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Vengeance Will Be Mine**  
Chapter 8

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were worried about their friend, Harry Potter. While he was outside duelling with Mad-Eye for some hands-on instruction, Ron, in a rare show of loss of concentration on his game, gave up ordering his pieces to move about and said, "Hermione, that was powerful magic we felt when Harry nearly did his nut at Kreacher, you know."

Hermione nodded, saying, "That's a reason we don't see a lot of wild magic about, isn't it, Ron? Our education at Hogwarts is designed to try and help us control our magical abilities so we don't go about hurting others with magical bursts."

"I just wish I knew how to help him. He's lost his parents, Sirius, and now Dumbledore. He always looked up to them, thought they walked on water, practically."

Further conversation was aborted when a pale Harry Potter, shaking from head to toe, was standing in the room looking blankly at them. Ron and Hermione simply stared as Harry slowly walked to the third chair in the room and drew it up near the chessboard.

After seating himself heavily in front of the chessboard, Harry covered his face with his hands, and breathed heavily for a bit while trying to get his emotions under control.

After a minute, he looked up at Ron and Hermione, and said, "We were practice duelling outside, when Mad-Eye spotted Flint and Dolohov."

At the mention of the Death Eater who'd almost liquefied Hermione's insides, she leaned forwards, all ears. "Well, go on, Harry."

"Right. Well, I got Flint straightaway, while Mad-Eye duelled Dolohov. Together, we managed to get Dolohov. Unfortunately, well… um, I killed Flint."

Harry's friends gasped, and Harry leadenly continued. "Well, I as good as killed Dolohov, too, because after Mad-Eye had him tied up on the lawn outside, I hit him with that curse I used on Malfoy at school."

No longer able to tolerate Ron and Hermione's uncertain looks, Harry said, "Blast it. I'm going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow. Croaker's coming over to help me with Occlumency."

Harry stamped out of the room before Ron or Hermione could express their sympathies, and Ron finally blurted, "Blimey! That's got to be rough on him, all right. What do we do now?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know, Ron. It's not every day someone who's not even seventeen has that much trauma and blood on his hands. I mean, technically, he was the one to kill Quirrell, he's already slain in battle by killing a Basilisk, and he's seen enough since then – especially with that episode of nearly killing Malfoy with that spell from the book. If he'd just told me about it before he used it I could have told him 'Sectumsempra' meant a slicing spell, and maybe he wouldn't have been so careless about it. But then again, Harry _did_ say Malfoy was about to use the Cruciatus.

"Harry's done a lot and been through a lot more than most people have, but we've been there with him as much as we could – well, for the most part – but I feel that he's beginning to drift away from us."

Hermione sighed, uncertain as to what to do. The two looked helplessly at each other, and then silently agreed to abandon the chess game in favour of more reading and research.

- - -

Harry woke up the next day, feeling a bit better. He fixed himself up breakfast, and then continued on the Occlumency text, reading up on various techniques to deceive a Legilimens. One was to focus on an unimportant memory, or a repetitive song. Another, which required more effort but could achieve better results, was to create false memories. It wasn't as difficult as it sounded, as humans, more easily than one might assume at first glance, could embroider and alter their own memories of occasions to the point where telling truth from falsehood in their_ own_ recollections was difficult enough. A Legilimens without the benefit of constant exposure to the Occlumens in question would be hard-pressed to determine what was what.

Engrossed in his reading, Harry barely heard the banging at the door, and was only prodded to go down and look to see who it was when Dobby popped in front of him, startling him into dropping the book on the floor.

Flustered, Harry said, "Sorry, Dobby. Downstairs, isn't it?"

"Yes, Harry Potter sir. Mr Moody sir is hitting the door quite hard."

Harry snatched up the Occlumency text, and dashed downstairs to open the door, finding two men standing near it. One was Mad-Eye Moody, of course, and the other was the man he vaguely remembered as Croaker from the Quidditch World Cup.

Croaker entered, but Mad-Eye didn't. The latter said, "Potter, I'm just here to introduce you to Croaker. I've been in touch at the Ministry. Nobody picked up anything on those Death Eaters, but Scrimgeour was happy to use Flint's body as 'proof' that the Aurors of magical Britain are fighting back against Death Eaters. I'm off to go speak to Aberforth Dumbledore again. Seems Rita Skeeter's been poking around that bar of his and he's not happy."

Harry nodded and waved his goodbyes, as Mad-Eye Disapparated. He closed the door, and invited Croaker up to his bedroom.

"So, um, Mad-Eye says you're to teach me Occlumency."

Croaker nodded. "That's right. We'll get you started by centring yourself, which it looks like you've already got a start on with that book. Good one, I say. Ideally I'd push you as fast as possible, but Mad-Eye tells me you've had bad experiences with an Occlumens who, as near as I can tell, had natural talent in it and didn't expect you to not be as adept in the mind arts. That's all right. We'll get you sorted out soon enough."

Harry replied, "Yeah. Um, Dumbledore once told me it was possible my mind could be more open to Voldemort when Legilimency was used… could that happen again?"

Croaker scratched his chin and said, "Hmm. Well, we can try to reduce the danger of that. We'll practice somewhere besides here, in a room that isn't immediately identifiable to anyone who might be looking into your mind. With luck I suspect that the phase of being more 'open' than 'closed' will be a short one. But for right now, I think we're safe in staying in your room.

"What I'd like you to do is begin the centring process, and I will try very light Legilimency. You may not immediately recognise the intrusions, but the objective here is to get you to begin to recognise them. Once we get that done, we'll be advancing your Occlumency on a daily basis. Would it be possible for me to use a room here, for that reason?"

Surprised, Harry said, "Oh! Um, sure! Dobby!"

Dobby popped into the room, and Harry said, "Would you fix up a spare bedroom for Croaker, here, and show him where it is?"

Dobby said, "It will be done, Harry Potter sir!" and popped away again.

Harry thought about why Croaker needed to stay, and then in realisation, blurted, "Oh! You can't leave because Mad-Eye had to personally bring you to the door, right?"

Croaker grinned. "Exactly right. I admit I was surprised when he grabbed my sleeve and led me up these stairs I couldn't see to a door I couldn't see, but once inside, I could see this place. Fidelius, is it?"

"Yeah. I guess the charm is weird when you're inside the residence being protected; I guess it would be a bit too strange to be walking around a place you could never see, or maybe because I'm the Secret Keeper and I let you in, you're sort of exposed to the secret even if you haven't been told where this place is."

Croaker leaned forward, and said, "And for that reason, _don't_ tell me where it is. Even if I can't reveal the Secret, if you tell me, someone may know. If they know I don't know because I wasn't told, they'll move on. Operational security. Anyway, shall we begin?"

"Sure. I'll begin centring now."

- - -

Croaker took a moment to observe Harry Potter as the lad closed his eyes and began calming his mind in preparation for the mental invasion (though a touch would be more analogous at this stage). He had noticed, from their initial introduction at the doorway, that the boy had a hard set to his eyes that spoke of recent traumas and subsequent resolute willingness to see justice be served.

Moody had told him of the lad's personally witnessing Dumbledore's death, and the time when You-Know-Who had actually taken Potter's blood in a bizarre embodying ritual, after which the two had luckily cancelled each others' spells with the _Prior Incantatem_ effect. Since Cedric Diggory had come back dead, it didn't take much to reason that the boy had seen Diggory die, by someone's hand. Rumour had it the boy's godfather had _also_ died in front of him, at the very Department of Mysteries in which Croaker worked. Scrimgeour had been quietly pushing through the voiding of charges against Sirius Black as well as the cancellation of the Order of Merlin granted to Pettigrew.

No almost-seventeen-year-old should have to see all that death, have to be pushed constantly to either be society's hero or villain as the popular mood struck. Even as this rather maudlin thought struck Croaker, he could see the makings of a man in this thin lad's body._ Maybe he'd come out of it far stronger than anyone would yet know,_ he thought.

With a soft "_Legilimens_", he began.

- - -

Wormtail, a.k.a. Peter Pettigrew, looked around his quarters at Spinner's End with distaste. Snape, with very ill grace, had agreed to put Wormtail up for the day or so it would take to use as a base of operations whle he did some spying. Pettigrew decided to annoy Snivellus a bit, taking his time eating a decent meal ("But the Dark Lord insisted, you know.") without the presence of a half dozen other Death Eaters and the Dark Lord's monologues about Mudbloods and Harry Potter.

He decided to interpret the parameters of his mission rather broadly (he rationalised that he could always claim to have seen the Weasley twins negotiating with Zonko's) by Apparating to Hogsmeade and skulking about there for a while. He was ecstatic when he discovered that Rita Skeeter was at Hogsmeade, and happily patted along (in rat form) unnoticed behind her as she badgered a clearly uncomfortable and wary Aberforth Dumbledore over his early years in Godric's Hollow. Mad-Eye Moody's appearance shortly after put an end to that, as Skeeter was summarily ejected, with Wormtail cautiously slipping around the rear door, experiencing the odd sensation of being sniffed by a goat as he made his way to the Shrieking Shack. He was glad to have killed the better part of a day with his newfound freedom (and gleaned for the Dark Lord that Skeeter was interested in publishing a book, apparently with embarrassing revelations to be had about Albus Dumbledore).

The next day, Wormtail mournfully Apparated into a derelict alleyway not far from the Leaky Cauldron. He swiftly transformed into a rat for the second day in a row, and then proceeded to scurry his way around to the entry door to the Leaky Cauldron. Not too long after, an unwittingly obliging patron opened the door, about to enter, and Wormtail scampered right on in.

The bar looked gloomier than when he'd been hiding in Ron Weasley's pocket in his third year; patrons, instead of lingering over their meals, ordered takeaway or simply bustled straight through with distracted, "Hello, Tom"s at the unfortunate bartender.

Sighing mentally at what he'd been reduced to, he scurried over to the entryway to Diagon Alley, and waited for someone to come and open up. He had had to learn the waiting game, unlike the Death Eater Slytherins he was usually around. But learn he did, and with the experience of many years, he simply crouched on all fours and waited, his tail twitching momentarily. Sure enough, the patron who let him in was walking towards the alley with a bag of take-away, and tapped the brick to let him in to Diagon Alley. Wormtail followed.

Diagon Alley bore all the marks of war; Ministry Aurors walked up and down the street, while some businesses were boarded up, like Ollivander's and Fortescue's. Others advertised sharply reduced hours, indicating close-up at the onset of dusk, while at Gringotts, security Goblins and wizards menacingly eyed the people who trickled in and out.

The oppressing weight of all this couldn't be countered even by Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, which was brightly coloured and garishly unconventional, going so far as to brazenly advertise being open until nine o'clock each night even on Saturdays. To the Weasley twins' credit, they were still doing swift business, and Wormtail had no trouble slipping in unnoticed, sliding between peoples' feet, and hurrying underneath the product shelves that lined the walls.

Once safely ensconced underneath the cash register table, Pettigrew flopped down on the floor and let his mind wander. His freedom had quickly gone rather sour, as he mentally groused about what rotten luck he'd had to get these mundane, idiotic missions, after all the trouble he'd gone to in order to bring back the Dark Lord! In the privacy of his own mind,_ away_ from the Dark Lord, he could readily admit that he hadn't liked the horrid pseudo-human body the Dark Lord had obtained before re-embodying himself, even if he'd attempted to lie his way out of that at the time.

Turning so he was lying on his back, his whiskers and tail moodily twitching, he further groaned about all the time he wasted at Snivellus's place the previous summer. Even now, even years later, that old name Sirius Black had pinned on the then-boy Snape still stuck. But Merlin, what an unpleasant bastard, especially close up! Sourly, Wormtail wondered when Bellatrix would quit her latest fetish regarding the Dark Lord, and then immediately rebelled at the mental images _that_ brought up.

All in all, he'd had a rather pathetic life, if he had to think about it. But for now, he was well and truly stuck, and it might as well be safer to do these little missions than be forced to actually _fight_.

As it was, his maudlin meandering meant he nearly missed hearing Fred (or was it George?) saying, "Haven't heard from Harry or Ron lately. I heard from Mum Ron's been away from home a lot."

"Pssht. He's just off snogging that Granger girl. She's a fright, I tell you! Would_ you_ stand in the way once she got her mind set on someone?"

Laughter behind the till.

Wormtail thought this over, and mused that maybe Ron was away, not to meet his girlfriend, but to meet Harry. But what could they be up to? The Boy-Who-Lived, Chosen One, et cetera, couldn't possibly be attempting to actually _train_ to fight the Dark Lord, could he? The notion was pretty laughable, considering what he knew of their academic skills prior to the end of their third year.

Oh well. At least the Weasleys kept their floors clean, even under the tills. Wormtail flipped back onto his stomach, and rested himself as he waited to hear more titbits of information.

* * *

Author Note:

Thanks go to **misfiredcanon** for the beta work. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Vengeance Will Be Mine**  
Chapter 9

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

As the night wore on, Fred and George Weasley noted with satisfaction that their sales were still going briskly, except for the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, which they had traced back to Malfoy's dormmate Blaise Zabini via owl order, and henceforth removed from the market with vague remarks about Ministry restrictions and the like.

As the clock went nine, the last customer left, who turned out to be Seamus Finnegan's Mum, having Apparated over briefly to Diagon Alley. The Weasley twins began the process of securing the place for the night. As it happened, some pretty sophisticated enchantments had been placed on the premises/residence besides the standard ensemble of shopkeeper protections, such as anti-theft, fraud prevention and anti-burglary charms and jinxes.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had extended the usual assortment of protections by adding on shielding which could be activated to protect the shop against attack from outside, as well as fire-prevention wards in the event that someone managed to get inside and begin causing trouble. He had also put in place a rather experimental and temperamental Dark Mark detector, based on some scans taken from Death Eaters after the events at the Department of Mysteries. All this was needed, given the twins' rather open statements about their affiliations (U-No-Poo being the clearest example of such).

So it was with a sense of routine that Fred waved his wand, activating the standard cleaning spells and raising the protections for the night. On the off chance that it would work, he also tried activating the Dark Mark detector, though it tended to give false alarms.

Almost immediately, a sharp tingling in Fred's mind made him jerk his head up in alarm. He waved violently at George, who had flicked his wand to shutter the windows and reinforce them with locking charms. At George's raised eyebrows, Fred gestured at his head, then at his left arm.

George cast the same spell to raise the protections, and his eyes widened at the alarm spell tingling in his head as well.

Fred flicked his eyes back and forth across the aisles, ascertaining quickly that there were no visible intruders. Yet someone was there.

Just to be absolutely sure, George cast a nonverbal _Homenum revelio, _which revealed the presence of someone under the cash register table.

_Someone was hidden inside Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes!_

George was the first to arrive at the conclusion. He whispered into Fred's ear, "Scabbers, you think?"

Sudden realisation struck Fred, and he snapped off his own _Homenum revelio_. In his eagerness, he stepped too quickly to the cash register, and a rather recognisable rat scurried towards the rear of the shop in evident panic.

"Shit!" yelled Fred, as he blasted off Animagus Reversal spells, which he'd made a note to learn after learning about Scabbers's true nature.

George, for his part, hastily began conjuring barriers to keep the rat from escaping their view, and successfully corralled the rat into an area just to the side of the entry door into the stairway going up to the living quarters.

George yelled, "Got him! Quickly, Fred!"

Fred successfully cast the Animagus Reversal spell, and smirked in satisfaction as Peter Pettigrew's suddenly human self squeezed against the conjured wooden barriers uncomfortably before they broke. Fred wasted no time in Stunning Pettigrew twice for good measure, then said "_Mobilicorpus._"

After depositing Pettigrew on the upstairs floor, Fred snarled, "_Incarcerous,_" ensuring quite surely that Pettigrew would not escape any time soon. The twins went back downstairs to Vanish the remains of the conjured barriers. Then they killed the downstairs lighting and made doubly sure the store was locked and clear of intruders.

Once back upstairs, Fred said, "Okay, George. What do you think we should do? Call the Order? Give him to the Ministry? Let Harry know? Or Ron? Either of 'em would love a chance to work this bastard over before handing him to Magical Law Enforcement."

George replied, "You know what? Ever since that Scrimgeour came around the Burrow and stuck his nose in our family's affairs and tried to get Harry to be his poster boy I haven't exactly trusted him or his flunkies."

"Ministry's out. The Order?"

"Shacklebolt's good, but—"

"Would the Order just eff it up, you think?"

"Likely so, brother mine. Intelligence gathering is one thing, but have they even helped repel a raid effectively lately?"

"And Snape's gone—"

"—with no love lost, I assure you, my dear Fred."

"I shudder to think of 'love' and 'Snape' in the same sentence, my dear George."

"Harry it is, then."

"Quite so. Floo powder… oh, bollocks. His house doesn't have a Floo, and Mad-Eye was here telling us he couldn't find Harry. We've no way to get hold of him. Any chance a Patronus would get to him? S'our only chance."

"After you, then."

Fred concentrated on the message he wanted to send to Harry Potter. As he kept the message and the recipient at the forefront of his mind, he said, "_Expecto Patronum!_"

- - -

Harry Potter was in his Occlumency session with Croaker in the nondescript spare bedroom just off from the disused Potions lab in the basement of Grimmauld Place.

Hermione had stumbled across it when she was exploring the lowest floor and had been surprised at this. Ron had explained at the time, "Well, some of the old families didn't trust apothecaries and shopkeepers to not stuff up potions they might have wanted, say if a woman got pregnant and there were problems. So they'd hire their own Potion makers and give them Portkey access in and out of rooms like these. Mum said Grandmum Prewett had something like this."

Harry had noticed that the entry door had been strengthened and pointed this out to Hermione, who promptly cast a dozen spells. She said, "The door has been physically strengthened with metal and magically imbued with identity recognition charms, though they're not currently active. My guess is that Sirius probably let them lapse, but didn't let Professor Snape in here. There's too much dust on the containers and at any rate, half the ingredients look as though they were last touched fifteen or twenty years ago, so they'd be quite expired."

But presently, Harry was into his second session of Occlumency training. He was now starting to 'feel' the alien presence in his mind from the light Legilimency touches and was now working on remaining calm and centered when Croaker would try and rouse false emotions, such as inexplicable happiness or melancholy.

This had been going on for about an hour fairly late in the night, after Harry had finished reading the Occlumency theory books available at Grimmauld Place. So it was with some surprise that Harry saw a ghostly fox enter the room, speaking with Fred Weasley's voice. It said, "We've got Scabbers. Come to the Wheezes when you can. We're on the Floo network. Password is 'Mischief Managed'."

Galvanised, Harry rocketed out of his chair and was halfway to the door out of the Potions lab when Croaker caught up with him, saying loudly, "Whoa! Easy there! What's got you all a-fire, Potter?"

Almost shivering with nervous energy, Harry said, "It's a long story. Basically Fred and George Weasley – you know them?" Croaker nodded. "Well, they found Worm—uh, Peter Pettigrew at their shop."

Stunned, Croaker said, "_Pettigrew?_ But he's dead!"

Strenously, Harry shook his head. "He faked his death! Sirius got locked up for it for twelve years and then never had the chance to prove he was innocent. Now we can get him sent off to the Ministry for good!"

Croaker took a deep breath. Harry noticed he seemed to be purposely radiating calmness and found himself settling down too. Croaker said, "Your attitude is commendable, Harry, but relax just a moment and let's stop and make sure you'll be all right. Remember, You-Know-Who's out there, and wants to get hold of you. He's already sent his best man to kill Dumbledore."

Harry saw the point and said, "Okay. Why don't I tell Ron and Hermione, and we'll check that things are okay before we Floo away?"

"Good. I know Patroni can't be falsified but it's still a good idea to exercise caution—"

Cheekily, Harry grinned, breaking in with, "Not constant vigilance?"

Croaker grinned back, saying, "Ah, yes. The indomitable Mad-Eye strikes again. Come, let's go upstairs and get the news to your friends."

Upstairs, by the fireplace, Ron and Hermione were overjoyed to hear that the Weasleys had grabbed Pettigrew, but while Ron grumbled about a traitorous rat inhabiting the same bed as he for three years, Hermione tilted her head in that way which meant she'd seen a half dozen loopholes, problems or defects in a plan of action.

She said, "This seems a little too easy, somehow. Peter Pettigrew hid out from the rest of the magical community for twelve years, and was smart enough to learn how to find Voldemort in the summer before fourth year, Harry. Yet he sneaks into Fred and George's shop and gets caught almost immediately? How do we know this isn't a plot within plots?"

Harry said, "Wormtail's a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin. He'd be willing enough to take a mission for Voldemort even if it meant he got caught. But maybe _Voldemort_ had his reasons for ordering Wormtail on this mission. How about we ask Fred and George to check him for any weird tracking spells or the like? Maybe a potion Snape made? After all, Muggles have these computer chips you can use to follow cars around, right?"

Realisation dawned in Hermione's eyes as she said, "Of course! The GPS and Glonass! I'm sure there'd be a magical equivalent, and if not, we can make one for ourselves. You call Fred and George. I'll raid the library."

Even as Hermione said those last words, her bushy hair was flying behind her as she ran full tilt for the library room.

Grinning, Harry said, "Ron, go with Hermione; make sure she doesn't spend more than five minutes, okay, mate?"

Ron smiled wanly and clapped Harry on the shoulder. He said, "Listen, Harry. Me and Hermione, we're here for you, you know? Anyway, I'll be back."

Ron stepped quickly out the door. Just as Harry reached for the Floo Powder, Croaker put out his hand. He said, "Something you want to tell me?"

Harry chewed his lip and said, "I thought my Occlumency was coming along. You said it was better than yesterday already." At Croaker's look, Harry continued, reluctantly. "Well, I guess you saw it in my mind, or something. Moody and I got into a fight the other day with Flint and Dolohov, and… well, I killed Flint. I told Ron and Hermione about it and I guess I wasn't in the best of moods. I just… I just don't like the idea that I'm now a killer."

Croaker said, "Unfortunately, that's what happens during wartime. I'll have some words of advice for you later, as I was in the last one as an active Unspeakable. Even here, I'm wearing a glamour, by the way."

Impressed, Harry said, "I didn't even notice. Then again I can't sense magic like Dumbledore apparently could. I'll explain about that later, if you want."

"I think I have some idea. Oh, your friends are back, by the way."

And sure enough, Hermione and Ron were clumping back into the room, carrying some books.

Harry reached up for the Floo powder again, and threw it in the fireplace, yelling, "Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, Mischief Managed!"

The flames turned green, and Harry stuck his head in, not liking the disorienting effect of his head whizzing past other grates to end up seeing Fred and George Weasley, looking unaccountably serious, with an unconscious and bound Pettigrew in the background.

Harry said, "Fred, George, good to see you. Thanks for finally getting Wormtail!"

Fred replied, "No problem, silent partner, no problem at all. We were thinking of handing him over to you rather than taking our chances with Scrimgeour."

George hesitated, looked at his brother, and said, "We know how much it'd mean to you if you could prove Sirius wasn't a criminal, Harry."

Touched, Harry said, "I appreciate it. We found out, though, that Scrimgeour quietly reversed the conviction and voided all the charges."

Fred's lips thinned. "That does it! If he can't be decent enough to tell you he did the right thing, no way we're giving _that_ waste of space," waving his hand at Wormtail, "over to Magical Law Enforcement!"

Harry said, "Okay. I'll find a place to stash him for the duration of the war. Meanwhile, Hermione wants to chat with you."

Harry waved blindly behind him, and Hermione's shoulder touched his as her head joined his in the twins' Floo.

George grinned. "The indomitable Hermione Granger! What can we do for you?"

"Have you checked Pettigrew over for tracking charms, potions, anything like that?"

Fred smacked his forehead. "Blast! George?"

"On it, brother mine."

George began casting several garden-variety spells to check for typical tracking charms, such as the basic location spell used to ensure that if two people split up somewhere, one could always find the other later.

"Hmm. Nothing. Fred?"

Fred shook his head. "I know all the ones you know. Got anything for us, Hermione?"

Hermione began reeling off exotic-sounding spells Harry had either barely heard of, or didn't even know. Fred and George obligingly alternated, with uniformly negative results.

Frustrated, Hermione said, "How much do you know about spells that interact with potions?"

Fred scratched his chin. He looked over at George and said, "Lumos Lamps, right?"

George nodded.

"We had to create a potion to give off light, but only do it when you'd tap the ball with your wand, or cast a spell to activate the potion. We could probably help you there instead of you having to come through and do it yourself."

Hermione thought for a moment, and said, "Do you know how to cast the revealing spell to see if a foreign substance is inside someone's body?"

Fred, surprised, shook his head. "Damn useful, that. What's the incantation?"

Hermione told him to say the spell, "_Ostendo sum extrarius liquidus_", which would, if it worked, show if Voldemort or Snape had fed Wormtail a potion-based tracker.

Surprisingly, Wormtail glowed a faint blue.

Harry gritted his teeth and snarled, "That bastard! Now we're in the firing line! I swear, I'm going to get Snape for this."

George yelled, "Wait! Hold on! This isn't a yes or no only spell, is it?"

Hermione, surprised again at the twins' knowledge of magic, said, "Actually, it's not. The shade of blue indicates how much potion is in his system and how long ago it was administered. I wonder if this was left over from something else, since it has to have been fed to Pettigrew a month or more ago, and probably a small dose at that. His body would have begun eliminating it over time."

Harry, a bit relieved, said, "Okay. Fred, George, send him through. I'll find a place to keep him. Thanks again for this."

"Any time you need us, just ask. We've got some Shield Hats and things like that if you want them, by the way."

"I'll definitely keep that in mind. Let's get out, Hermione."

A few moments later, Harry was rubbing his knees and wishing he'd remembered to have Dobby carpet the floor near the fireplace. Shortly after, the green flames burst into renewed intensity and out popped a still-insensate Peter Pettigrew.

Before anyone could restrain Ron, he swiftly kicked Pettigrew, snarling, "That's for being a traitorous rat and sneaking around using my family to hide!"

Croaker grabbed Ron and forcibly yanked him away. "Not now, Weasley! Potter – where are you going to put him? I get the feeling you're not inclined to send him on to the Ministry, though as a nominal representative of said Ministry here, I must inform you that willfully withholding a criminal is against the law."

In a deliberately casual air of indifference, Croaker said, "Now, dear me, where did I put those law books? Wouldn't do for him to _disappear_ if I leave the room."

Croaker left the room, clumping upstairs. Harry and Ron stared at each other, mystified.

Hermione got the point at once. She hissed in a low voice, "Harry! Ron! Croaker gave us a hint. He'll overlook us locking up Wormtail somewhere if we can do this fast. Harry, where's that list of properties?"

Gobsmacked, Harry had to force himself to think, then a memory flashed and he was off pell-mell to his bedroom, thankfully not encountering Croaker along the way. After flinging the contents of his trunk everywhere, he rushed back with the wills of his parents and Sirius.

He pointed, whispering urgently. "Look, see here? There's an unused place of my Dad's in… Galway? Where's that?"

"Ireland; west coast. Probably rendered Unplottable, et cetera, but as to why he didn't use it instead of your place at Godric's Hollow? I suspect a smaller place was easier to put under the _Fidelius_ and would be less noticeably missing."

Ron quietly said, "What do you think, then? Lock him up somewhere here, go check the place out in Ireland, then see if we can leave him there?"

Harry paused, then nodded firmly. "For tonight, let's find out if Lupin transformed here, and if he did, where he locked himself up. We can put Wormtail there for now."

Hermione said, "Come, then. Quickly. I saw another passageway further down from the entryway into the Potions room."

The trio wasted no time finding the reinforced cage. After casting several spells to ensure Wormtail wouldn't transform into a rat and try to escape, they locked the man up and trooped back up to the fireplace.

Croaker stepped in a few moments later and said, "Dear me! No Peter Pettigrew to take in. Well, I suppose I'll have to reprimand you all for letting the man escape, and send you all off to bed."

The three teenagers shared surreptitious grins as they trooped off to bed, and Harry marvelled that he had the friends he did.

* * *

Thanks go to **misfiredcanon** for the beta work. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Vengeance Will Be Mine**  
Chapter 10

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Harry Potter couldn't sleep.

His bed in the well-appointed re-done master bedroom was comfortable, and his bedsheets were cool. Dobby had helpfully put cooling charms on his pillow and sheets so he wouldn't swelter in the summer heat, so that certainly wasn't the problem.

_Blast it, _he mentally groused as he thumped the pillow.

Harry sat up in bed and grabbed up his wand. He muttered, "_Tempus_," and sighed. The numbers that flashed up momentarily showed that it was 1.12, hardly a time to be still awake and not able to sleep.

He knew why, too. He was too keyed up, having finally – _finally – _gotten his hands on Wormtail, after three years in which the unassuming-looking man had managed to throw the British wizarding world into turmoil and a second war, because he had managed to raise Voldemort back from the barely-alive form he once inhabited.

Harry decided he might as well do the rounds in his house, just in case. He slipped out of bed, put on his slippers, then rummaged for his glasses and put them on as well. After that, he silently descended the stairs with only his wand for a light.

The second floor showed nothing unusual, though Harry thought he heard Ron mumbling slightly as he passed the doorway of the room which Ron was sharing with Hermione (Harry was sure Hermione had enforced a 'separate beds' rule, much to Ron's misery). Croaker's room had the door closed, and Harry could detect no noise coming from it.

As Harry passed to the stairs, he peeked over the bannister and saw nothing untoward. Descending to the first floor, he smirked at the blank spot which used to have Walburga Black's infamous painting, and then paused as his ears picked up a faint scratching.

Padding swiftly on down to the ground floor, the scratching grew more noticeable. Suddenly, in alarm, Harry knew what was going on.

Throwing caution to the winds, Harry dashed down the stairs to the basement, barely noticing the kitchen being cleaned silently by Dobby and Winky, and dashed down the corridor that led to the room where Remus transformed.

The steady scratching of metal on metal could be heard through the door. Harry mentally kicked himself as he realised no-one had bothered to check Wormtail's pockets. With magic everywhere one looked, nobody paused to consider Muggle methods of escaping prisons. Without special hardening charms on the metal bars of Wormtail's cell, a saw would do the job of letting someone out. _And if he had his wand…_

Harry cursed and wished he'd remembered to check for Wormtail's wand before locking him up. Harry readied himself, mentally counting down from three.

On "_one_" he slammed the door open, wand pointed, bellowing, "_Stupefy!_"

The red light struck Wormtail completely unawares, and he collapsed against the rear wall, his saw stuck in one of the bars.

Ice seemed to travel down Harry's spine as he noticed that Wormtail had already managed to saw through four bars at the top, and was working his way down the gridwork on one side. The saw, which he plucked out from the horizontal bar at eye level, was just an ordinary blade which could be bought at any hardware store and could conveniently attach to a coping saw frame. If Wormtail had succeeded in sawing away for several more hours, he would have made a convenient square just the right size for escaping a cell that had anti-Animagus protections laid on it.

A detached part of himself admired the effort it must have taken for Pettigrew to have gripped the saw in his hands, pushing and straining against the metal. But a sudden surge of anger at the thought that Wormtail could have escaped their clutches, _again_, made Harry begin seeing red. Sparks flew from his wand as he bellowed, "_Ennervate!_"

A dazed Wormtail slowly stood, only to rear back in shock as he realised his unfortunate situation. He began snivelling, "Harry! Don't hurt me!"

Harry roared, "_Shut up!_"

He waved the saw blade under Wormtail's nose, yelling, "Think yourself lucky, do you? Let's see what else you've got hidden _–_ _Accio Pettigrew's jacket!_"

Although the effect hadn't been intended, Harry barked a laugh as Wormtail was bodily sailed directly into the bars of the cell, mashing his nose quite thoroughly.

Harry muttered, "Well, that wasn't the brightest of ideas, I suppose—oh, _crap_."

Harry suddenly realised his attempted Summoning of the jacket had inadvertently smashed Wormtail into the already-weakened section of the cage, and he could see the bars were out of joint. A swift series of "_Reparo_" spells fixed that, and Harry realised they had forgotten to tie Wormtail back up. Apparently Fred and George had had difficulty sending him through, and must have briefly untied him to bodily shove him through the Floo.

Harry also realised no-one, not he, Ron nor Hermione had bothered to double-check for Pettigrew's wand. Mistake after mistake after mistake! Harry thought disgustedly, _what were he and his friends, clones of that idiot Fudge? _

But in the meantime, best to see if the wand was around. "_Accio_ Pettigrew's wand!"

Luckily, no wand materialised from Pettigrew's clothes, so Fred and George must have kept it and not sent it through. Harry thought it was rather fortuitous in retrospect.

Harry smirked as he remembered the effect of the Summoning, and a part of him wanted to cause Wormtail some more pain. He pointed his wand and said, "_Accio_ Wormtail."

The effect was even more smashing, as it were, as Pettigrew's moan of pain attested when he got a black eye and several bruises from slamming into the intact cell frame.

Harry decided enough was enough for now, and finished things off.

"_Incarcerous! Stupefy!_"

Harry decided that would hold things for now, and for good measure, snuffed out the one candle in the room that Hermione had left lit. Harry closed the door, muttered, "_Colloportus_," and padded back upstairs. Pausing to throw the saw blade on the table by his bed, he slipped back under the bedsheets. Sleep eventually came after he remembered to practice his mind-clearing exercises.

- - -

After breakfast, a still-groggy Harry sipped his second cup of tea as Hermione researched the best way to get to the abandoned Potter residence in County Galway in Ireland.

After closing up a wizarding atlas of Ireland, printed in the late 1950s, she said, "Well, it would be a simple matter to Portkey there. The residence is at the southernmost tip of Lough Corrib. There's a town called Menlough, but even that's not too close to your… I guess mansion, Harry. Even allowing for the passage of time and that I don't know if the atlas is self-updating, we can't go too wrong in assuming we'll be safe from any Muggles in the area."

Harry mused, "The question is – how do we get there? Portkey or Apparation?"

Ron shrugged, saying, "Can't see any other way. I wouldn't like to Apparate to a place I've never been to before. It'd have to be a Portkey."

Harry's stomach felt a bit queasy as he remembered his untoward experiences involving Portkeys, but he resolved to get on with it and not whinge about having to use one. To take his mind off the impending trip, he said, "Are there any wards here, anti-Portkey or the like? I assume there'd almost have to be, considering that Sirius mentioned something about his parents laying almost any kind of protection on this place they could afford."

Croaker's entry into the room solved that problem as he mildly said, "Good morning, all. Hope I didn't startle you too badly. If you're interested, I checked the first day I was here. The house is Unplottable. It has the standard Muggle-repelling charms, prevents Apparation from within the house to outside the house or vice versa, but _does_ allow Apparating from one room to another. Portkeys inbound need to have been made by Dumbledore. Portkeys outbound, same situation. That's on top of the standard anti-Portkey ward. What else? Ah, the walls were slightly magically reinforced and infused with fire-prevention charms, as well as a sort of analog to a Confundus charm that keeps people from being able to detect that magic is being done in this house."

Ron whistled. "Sure didn't spare the Galleons. So I guess Harry, since he owns this place, can alter who's allowed to make a Portkey that goes in and out of here. How do we do that?"

Croaker replied, "There's several ways you can anchor a protection for that. I imagine Miss Granger here probably has the spellbook for it from the library. Care to look it up for us, please?"

Hermione put her orange juice on the table, excused herself, and was back within a few minutes holding a book which read Grimoire of the Blacks on it. Croaker lifted his eyebrows and said, "Meaning no offence, Miss Granger, but I'm surprised that book allowed you to touch it. May I check you over for any curses?"

Hermione, at first appearing surprised, gasped in realisation and hurriedly dropped the book on the table near Harry. She then stood near Croaker, who waved his wand and seemed satisfied with the spectrum of colours that emanated briefly from it.

"Very fortunate! I have no idea why the Black family wouldn't have laid on at least an anti-stranger curse or hex on the book. Were I the owner of such a book I'd have made sure nobody else would read it without permission. Given who the Blacks were, and their rather annoying pure-blood fanaticism, I wouldn't have put it past them to put spells on the book that required a person of Black ancestry to be the one to touch it, open it, and so on."

Harry shifted in his chair and uncertainly said, "Maybe some of the curses became inoperative when I took ownership? It'd be a… a contradiction, I guess, if a half-blood, and I'm not even a Black at that, to own this house and control it completely, but not let me or anyone have access to the books in it."

Croaker nodded, and cast some spells over the book, and sure enough, one made the book glow a rather alarming shade of red. He smiled tightly, saying, "Bingo, Potter – got it in one! There's a Withering Curse on the book that's not working properly, as though the spell were cast wrong."

Hermione looked shaken, and Ron didn't look much better. He said, "Blimey! We really dodged a Bludger there, all right, when we were cleaning this place a couple of summers ago. Brrr!" He shivered at the implications, and Harry eyed the grimoire with new wariness.

Harry pulled out his wand, pointed it at the book and guardedly said, "_Finite Incantatem._"

Nothing happened, and he sheepishly said, "It was worth a try. If I own the house I should be able to cancel the spell, right?"

Croaker cast his diagnostic again, and the book still went red. Wordlessly, he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, momentarily deep in thought.

Meanwhile, Hermione went to find a utensil, and came back with a clean metal spoon. She shoved the end of the handle under the cover, and began using the spoon handle to flip the pages. She said absently, "We'll have to see about any ownership-privilege spells later. Right now, I need to find the spell originally used by Orion Black and modified by Dumbledore for the Portkeys. I saw it in here when I was thumbing through it last night… ah, here we are.

"It requires the owner of the house and the one whose magical signature is required – and they can be the same person, but if not, the spell accounts for it – to both place a drop of blood on a rune carved into the door frame at the front. If all works well, all older allowed signatures are, for lack of a better word, 'deleted' after re-casting of the spell. The blood does make it a little Dark, but the blood has to be given voluntarily, so it's not that bad as such spells go. So I guess we have to do this like Professor Dumbledore and Sirius would have, with Sirius casting the spell and both he and Dumbledore offering blood at the appropriate time. So in place of Sirius, Harry would cast, and Croaker would offer his blood along with Harry."

Croaker, who had been listening even as he was tapping his finger against his mouth, said, "That'd be the wisest, as I'm the one with a legitimate Portkey creation licence."

Harry nodded and rose out of his chair. He looked round at the others and said, "Well, shall we?"

Harry led Croaker and the others to the front door, and began looking for anything that might be vaguely Runic. Finally, on the door near the handle he saw what looked like a very angular letter R, and just opposite it on the frame, he saw something that looked vaguely like a Z.

He turned to Hermione, who was standing beside him on the right, and said, "Here, can you figure these out?"

She leaned over, peered at the runes, and grinned ironically. "Remember what I was complaining about after OWLs? That one," she pointed at the Z, "is _eihwaz_, which means 'defence'. On my exam I mixed up _ehwaz_ and _eihwaz_. The other rune is _raidho_, meaning 'transportation'."

Harry nodded. "And a Portkey is transportation. I wonder if that also doubles as the anti-Apparation anchor as well."

Croaker nodded. "That would make sense. If you're paying someone to modify a door like that and cast spells which require it to be unaffected by brushing blood on wood, you'd like to make it as easy as possible to anchor as many protections as you like. It's a variation on the use of runes to help anchor a _Fidelius_ when you're applying it to property rather than a person."

Harry had his wand back out and said, "Well, shall we begin?"

Hermione began reciting the words from memory for the spell, as Harry made a small cut on his finger and dabbed it on both runes at the indicated moment in time, after which Croaker followed up. Harry finished by jabbing his wand at each rune as he cast the last spell Hermione instructed him to use.

After Harry muttered "_Episkey_" to heal his finger, he said, "That was it? We're done?"

Croaker said, "I guess so. We'll find out. Did you three have a particular place in mind?"

Harry nervously wondered if Croaker was just humouring them and expected them to want to go to the Weasleys and would refuse to send them anywhere else. _Well, nothing for it_, he thought.

"Um, actually, we do. I wanted to check out a place of my Dad's in Ireland."

Croaker's eyebrows lifted, but to his credit, he simply said, "That I can do. We're lucky; a quirk of history has slowed the separation of the Irish magical realm from the English-Scottish-Welsh one, so in effect the British wizarding realm still includes all of Ireland.

"That means for all intents and purposes we're Portkeying within one country. And yes, I'll be coming with you. If something untoward happens I'd rather not be rattling around this place, unable to get back in should you need help. As far as the _Fidelius _is concerned, I'm going to broadly interpret the terms of my licence, which allows me to specifically teach the spell under the condition that the maker of the Portkey is taking me with him or her to a protected residence.

"All right, you three. Get packed. Bring anything particularly protective, which means clothing suited for a wilderness, not for a city, and anything else you can think of."

Harry took his cue and rushed up to his room. He grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it into a backpack along with a torch he'd nicked off Dudley back at Privet Drive, and a spare change of clothing. He said, "Dobby! Winky!"

The two house-elves materialised with twin pops, and Winky said, "What does you need, Harry Potter sir?"

"I'm going to be leaving this place for a little bit. Er, come to think of it, is there any way you can tell me if there are any house-elves at this place my Dad used to own?"

Dobby's ears pricked up and he said, "You just has to call us, and we is coming where you will be. We is able to find out then."

Relieved, Harry said, "Okay. I may be calling for you later today, then. Actually, I have another thought. Could you take a human with you somewhere if you had to?"

Winky shuffled her feet and said, "House-elves is not supposed to show their magic, Harry Potter sir, not like that."

"But it'd be a brilliant idea! That way we wouldn't even need to take a Portkey on the return trip, right?"

Dobby said, "You is correct, Harry Potter sir. House-elves is able to bypass wizard protections."

"Okay. Keep that in mind. I've got to go now. Thanks again for the great job cleaning – oh! And make sure the git in the basement doesn't try to escape like he almost did early this morning when I ran down there."

Dobby nodded. "We will do that, Harry Potter sir. We was startled when you was rushing past the kitchen." His ears drooped. "Dobby is sorry that he did not know the prisoner was trying to escape. Dobby will make sure now!"

"Thanks. I'm going to go now, okay? You can go back to whatever you were doing."

The house-elves popped away, and Harry clattered back down two flights of stairs to meet Croaker, Ron and Hermione by the front door. Croaker was holding out a metal canister, presumably something that had once held Floo powder or the like. It was cracked down one side, which explained why it wasn't currently being used.

Harry said, "Where'd you get that?"

"There was a rubbish pile in the boiler room. I assume the house-elves were putting things there temporarily. Now grab on, and we'll be off to your place in Ireland."

Harry put his hand on the canister, and braced for the whirlwind of light and motion that was always so unsettling.

* * *

Author Note:

Thanks go to misfiredcanon for the beta reading. Con-crit is, as always, appreciated. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Vengeance Will Be Mine**  
Chapter 11

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

The foursome materialised, quite by chance, inside a convenient grove of trees that hid them from view of the lake to the north. Harry, thankful that this Portkey ride hadn't deposited him flat on his arse, looked around. There was no-one in the immediate vicinity. As he looked between a gap in the trees, he saw that the beach, or what passed for it, at the edge of the lake was mostly rocky with a smooth gray clay-like material occasionally peeking out from in between the rocks. Harry imagined that at a proper beach the clay would have given way to sand.

He surveyed the others. Croaker stood, imperturbably surveying the surroundings. Rom and Hermione seemed to be getting their bearings. The girl took a breath, then swiftly extracted the map book and compared it with where she currently was. Ron looked up, and Harry's gaze followed. He noticed the trees were about thirty feet tall and had wide, solid trunks. The area felt as though it had a permanency to it, that these trees and that lake and its rocky beach had been present, and would be present, for hundreds of years in either temporal direction.

Harry said softly, "Let's begin making a way through that gap. I think I see a sort of pathway here; see how the dirt's trampled?"

Hermione nodded, saying, "Most likely deer or other animals have made the path. Let's go."

They walked out from the grove of trees onto a trodden pathway parallelling the rocky beach, which led into a less dense forest of trees, and Harry immediately noted that the sky was overcast. The pathway veered off after about twenty feet and seemed to go straight up the small hill that lay to the south, while to the west and east the trees again became denser and taller. Various bushes and other flora lined the pathway; one particularly ferny bush a few feet down caught his attention as they continued on, Hermione taking the front and Harry bringing up the rear behind Ron.

After what felt like about ten minutes of walking, Harry looked behind him and noticed that the lake looked quite impressive, a placidly calm body below him surrounded by lush greenery. As he turned back, his eye caught something white about a hundred feet away to his right, just a small patch of white amidst the trees. He barked, "Wait!"

The others came up to him. Croaker said, "You see something?"

Harry pointed. "Yeah. Look there; you see something white? It's like a building, or something, is behind those trees."

Croaker gestured for Harry, Ron and Hermione to gather close. He said quietly, "All right. We'll go slowly. Remember your cutting hexes, people. We'll need to cut our way through. I'll also begin checking for anything magical."

The foursome began wielding their wands like machetes as they repeatedly muttered, "_Diffindo_", and small tree branches as well as leaves from bushes and shrubbery began to litter a crude path to the patch of white. Before long, it was clear that the patch of white was indeed the wall of a house. While they were still some forty feet away, Croaker abruptly halted and pointed his wand in the wall's direction. Harry nervously checked to make sure no-one could see from the path, and judged that the trees and greenery offered sufficient cover from all around.

Croaker seemed satisfied and said, "It's definitely magical, all right. There's a Muggle-Repelling Charm laid around the area, and the trees on the side facing the lake were cut down and a camouflaging spell was put in place to make the trees seem as though they were still present. I think your being here, Mr Potter, cancelled some of the protections since I know for a fact that this house was not visible through the trees when we were at the lake."

Harry nodded. "Okay. I need to do one thing. Dobby!"

True to his word, the house-elf appeared next to Harry. "What can Dobby do for Harry Potter sir?"

"Dobby, I need you to check that house in front of us and tell me if there are any house-elves inside."

Dobby's ears poked up as he extended a finger. A silent exchange seemed to occur as Dobby's ears twitched slightly.

As he lowered his hand, Dobby's ears drooped. "Dobby is sorry to tell Harry Potter that there is no house-elves. Dobby thinks all the house-elves is being sold or sent somewhere else until a Potter returns."

"Well, for now, you and Winky will probably have to work on this place, then. Is there anything else I should be careful of?"

"Dobby does not believe so, Harry Potter sir. The house is only being sealed until Harry Potter touches the door."

"Thanks, Dobby. Go back to headquarters, okay?"

Dobby nodded, and disappeared with a soft _pop_.

Harry said, "Well, that settles it. My parents must have locked this place up years ago. Sounds like this was a vacation spot for them and with the war on... well, no vacations. Let's go 'round to the front door, if we can find it."

A gravel pathway parallelling the wall was welcome relief from the trudging through the bushes. It turned out that the pathway indeed took them to the front door, which faced out to a small rectangular lot which was overgrown with weeds. Ron noticed that there were some depressions in the lot a few feet away from the stairs going up to the oak doors, and pointed them out. He said, "Looks like your Dad, or maybe granddad, had a picnic table here. I'm guessing the lot used to be gravel or dirt and was used for social gatherings. People probably just Apparated in and then left the same way."

Harry said, "Well, when I have time I'll get this place properly cleaned up. It seems pretty nice."

Indeed, the white house was something of a bungalow, with a gabled roof and a glass cupola over the centre of the house. The house, overall, looked fairly sturdy and modest. Harry noticed the windows were all heavily draped on the inside, and as he approached the front door, he noted there was a slight layer of dust on the handle. _Well, nothing but to do it_, thought Harry.

He extended his hand and hesitantly placed it at the centre of the door.

His arm suddenly glowed white, and when he tried to remove his hand, he found that it was stuck. Panicked, Harry yanked harder, only to be flung backwards when the white glow suddenly ceased, releasing him unawares.

Ron was already at his side, hauling him up. "Whoa! What was that, Harry?"

Croaker said, "Seems like it was a Family Recognition Spell or the like. The house should open for him now."

Harry cautiously opened the door, and automatically felt around for a light switch on the inside wall before remembering it was likely too strongly magical a residence to allow for that. He pulled out his torch and flicked the switch, noting that the entryway was partly lit by the light being let in by the cupola. The house's interior, oddly, showed very little dust for all that the place seemed to have been abandoned for around twenty years. Perhaps the sealing spell did some basic dust repulsion or did forced air circulation?

The entryway was just a short hallway, with a closet near the front door, that opened into what appeared to be a sitting room of some kind; four comfortable Chesterfield couches were arranged symmetrically about a square wooden table, and a large fireplace was inset against the right-hand wall. The cupola was directly over the table, and Harry surmised that in times past this was the central gathering place for his Potter ancestors and their guests. Heavy drapes covered what were obviously windows that looked out onto the lake.

Hermione and Ron looked at Harry, silently asking permission with their glances. Harry nodded at the drapes and his friends dashed over to see how the view looked. Meanwhile, Harry and Croaker noted drapes covering part of the southern wall which looked onto the abandoned courtyard. They pulled the drapes to, and briefly checked that the courtyard was still abandoned.

A gasp from Hermione had Harry and Croaker turning around to take in the picturesque view to the north; the hill fell away below the house, offering a brilliant view of the glistening lake and the surrounding forest. It indeed felt as though they were in a tiny piece of civilisation surrounded by infinite wilderness. Even Ron seemed appreciative of the choice of location.

Croaker spoke up, breaking the silence. Harry thought his voice seemed unnaturally loud as it echoed through the room. "You three stay here. I'm going to scout the rest of the house and check for any unusual charms, protections, the like. Just because this common area seems unaffected doesn't mean the bedrooms weren't, for obvious reasons."

Harry blushed slightly as he caught the implication, and nodded briskly to Croaker, whose footfalls died away as he disappeared down the western hallway, his wand the only source of light. Harry shut off his torch, no longer needing it now that natural sunlight shone in from the cupola and the windows on both sides. He remembered what he wanted to say without Croaker nearby, and whispered, "Ron! Hermione! Listen - last night... no, it was early this morning around one o'clock - I caught Wormtail trying to escape!"

Hermione indignantly hissed back, "And you didn't think to wake us up or tell us before now? _Harry!_"

"Sorry. Well, for one, we can't let Croaker know. Also, it was just... I only caught him because I couldn't sleep and decided to tour the house just in case. I caught a funny noise from the basement and went down to find him sawing through the bars. How he managed to get his hands on a saw blade for a coping saw we've got to find out. I bet he went shopping and kept it on his clothes. Don't an Animagus's clothes disappear into some kind of wizardspace when they become an animal?"

Hermione seemed unsure, but drove on. "Well, what did you do after that?"

Harry decided to leave some things out. "Stunned him, repaired the bars, took the saw blade, made sure he didn't have his wand and then tied him back up. We forgot to do that when Fred and George sent him through the Floo. Oh, and I doused the candle so there'll be no light. I've got Dobby and Winky making sure he won't leave. House-elves can be pretty fearsome, you know. Remember Lucius?"

Ron grinned. "Loved that story! Stuck-up old Malfoy got bowled over by Dobby like he was a piece of parchment. Say, you thinking of moving that rat here, for sure, then?"

Harry nodded, saying, "Yeah. Even if he escapes he doesn't know how to get into Grimmauld Place and has no idea of the area since we never took him outside. But we'd better make sure he can stay locked up here. We need to find out if my Dad gave him special permission to be here, or something, since I'll need to cancel that spell."

At that moment, Croaker returned. He said, "Well, aside from the usual privacy charms on the bedrooms there's no spells. There's three bedrooms here. One has a large bed so I assume that was the master bedroom. The others have twin bunks so this place can sleep six people, in theory. There's a couple of decent bathrooms here, too. I'll explore the east half of the house now. Oh, I found out how you should turn on the lights. There should be a rectangular metal plate somewhere you touch your wand to. Seen them used at the Department of Mysteries, actually. Makes me wonder if your Mum didn't work there once, Harry."

Intrigued, Harry said, "You're sure? The design is the same? Where's the one here? Let's look."

As it turned out the 'switch' was on the eastern wall near the inset fireplace. Harry hesitated, then touched his wand briefly to to the flat, unpolished metal rectangle about the size of a typical playing card.

Soft, diffuse white light emanated from all four walls in the room, lending a more cheery atmosphere to the place. The metal surface had changed to a glossy black. Croaker noticed this and nodded. "No doubt about it. Your Mum was an Unspeakable, or as good as, when she had you. It was actually a Muggleborn who came up with this idea back in the sixties. Seems he got tired of touching the wall to find a switch, only there wasn't one. The magical addition to this lets you control who can actually turn anything on. Try it, there, ah, Hermione."

It sounded as though Croaker were attempting to be more friendly, but Harry still caught that slight hesitation. In any case, Hermione's wand tapping against the black surface did nothing. Harry tapped it with his wand, and the light died again. Another tap, and the light came back to full strength.

Croaker was all business again. "Okay. Once more, stay here. I'll be back."

Unbidden, an image from the movie _Terminator 2_ ran through Harry's head, and he tried to keep himself from giggling as he noticed Hermione's lips quirk in shared remembrance. Dudley had loved it, of course, since it involved lots of explosions and guns.

Harry idly ran his hand over the nearest couch, and noted again the relative lack of dust. He saw that in the good lighting conditions, it, like the other three, was a subdued brown colour and seemed stiff to the touch. He wasn't an expert on home furnishings but the couch seemed a bit older than the kind of couch the Dursleys had. Probably it was from the 1950s or 1960s, unless his mother furnished the place herself after she married his Dad. The wooden table also seemed a bit older than modern coffee-tables, but by how much was anyone's guess.

He decided to try out the furniture, seating himself on the couch facing the lake, and to his surprise, the couch remained relatively springy and not on the verge of collapse as he would have expected. Magic never ceased to amaze Harry in some ways.

Ron and Hermione sat down on the couch nearest Harry, which was the one on the eastern side of the table. They seemed equally surprised that the house-sealing spell had been as good as it had. Uncomfortably, Harry had a mental image of the house held in an unnatural stasis, held in this time warp for hundreds of years, had he never known about this place.

Croaker's loud footsteps shook Harry from his reverie. Croaker announced, "Behind me down that hallway is a kitchen, dining room, the usual. There's no food here, naturally. I assume a house-elf could probably use all the crockery and such, if you wanted to put one of them to work here. Saw a doorway to a basement, but I did a scan and there's nothing down there that shows up as dangerous on scan. So, it would seem you three have an alternative safe-house ready for use."

Harry bounced off the couch, eager to get Croaker out from underfoot. But first, time to clean up some loose ends...

"Dobby! Winky!"

The two house-elves popped in, and Harry said, "Dobby or Winky, would one of you begin laying in food and supplies here? I assume house-elves can buy things for people without trouble?"

Winky nodded and said, "You is just needing to give Winky a draft and I is taking care of your food."

"Okay. We'll be back at Grimmauld Place in a few minutes and I'll get you sorted then, all right?"

The house-elves nodded and popped away.

"I guess it's time to go back. Um, how do we do the Portkey?"

Croaker said, "It's actually quite straightforward. I kept the canister from last time. Now, since you know the place and I don't, fix the destination firmly in mind, and decide on the countdown time. Now, you two," indicating Ron and Hermione, "make sure you have all your things."

Ron and Hermione got up off the couch and grabbed up their bags. Harry made sure he was thinking quite clearly of Grimmauld Place, in the foyer just by the entry doorway. A half-minute seemed ample time to get ready, and he said so.

Croaker replied, "Good! The spell is _Portus dimidium minute_. The exact details of the time delay require you to know some Latin, and I'll recommend a good manual on Portkeys when we get back. Meantime, cast the spell, and then we'll all hold on."

Harry did so, clutching the canister, which glowed a slight blue. He said, "Okay, grab on."

Just after a half-minute had passed, the foursome were whirled back to Grimmauld Place, and this time, Harry _did_ stumble, nearly crashing into the solid door. He said sheepishly, "Sorry. My first Portkey, you know."

Croaker said, "Well, now that we're done scouting and such, you three should sit down and decide what you want to do for the next while. I had some leave time scheduled with the Unspeakables to begin with, but even so I'm eventually going to have to take my leave of you and return you to Mr Moody's tender attention and constant vigilance. I'll be in my room for the moment; I have a trunk with some books; I believe I have one on the basics of Portkey usage."

As soon as they heard the dull _slam_ of the door, Harry said, "_Muffliato_."

He continued, saying, "Okay. Listen - I've got to keep my Occlumency up. Can I trust you two to take care of moving Wormtail over to my Dad's place? Since Dobby and Winky have both been there I bet either one of them could just pop you over. Wish we had Veritaserum, or something like it."

Hermione said, "Why don't you want to move him yourself, Harry?"

Harry said, matter-of-factly, "Because I might be tempted to kill the bastard before we've had a chance to question him. And make sure that potion's out of him. Even if Death Eaters track him down to this area, they'll never find him thanks to the _Fidelius_."

Ron butted in, saying, "Never mind, mate. Consider it done. Hermione, we'd better just go do this, all right?"

Hermione seemed reluctant to abandon her analytical tendencies, but she said nothing more, for which Harry was thankful. He didn't feel like being picked at over acting on his own and feeling slightly murderous (as he thought anyone rightly should) over having to see someone who betrayed his parents more often than necessary. She simply said, "Okay, I'll look into the Veritaserum."

The pair went off, and Harry decided to go upstairs and see Croaker.

**- - -**

Croaker sat in the upholstered chair in his room, considering, again, the young man named Harry Potter.

While he was all but certain that Peter Pettigrew had been interned somewhere on the premises, he had decided discretion was the better part of valour and purposely chose to ignore this. Certainly the whispering he'd caught as he returned to the main room at that house in Ireland suggested the trio were busy on their own plans.

The only danger here was that young Potter, on the verge of his power boost at seventeen, might also become, as the Muggles said, a 'loose cannon'. So far, however, the boy had proven diligent about his Occlumency and seemed to be keeping himself mentally discplined.

The young man's friends could ground him, keep him focussed. They were simultaneously his weakness and strength; a paradox, to be sure, but just as no man is an island, no man is unwounded when his friends are in danger. In particular, considering Ron Weasley, Moody had made some remarks which implied he and Arthur Weasley knew each other in some kind of non-official capacity. While as yet his Legilimency probes into Harry's mind were not at full strength, he knew sooner or later he might witness something about the war effort that he would be better off not knowing for reasons of plausible deniability.

Rufus Scrimgeour could be a very annoying Minister for Magic when he got a bee in his bonnet, if his previous meetings with the man proved to be any indication.

Croaker's train of thought was abruptly broken as Harry Potter entered the room, smiling a bit uncertainly. He said, "Um, hi... I was wondering if you had that book?"

Croaker grabbed up the book he'd left on the bed, and handed it to Harry before sitting back down. "Of course! Here, it's just some quick reading, explains some of the limitations of Porkeys and so forth. Now, if you don't mind I'd like to get your Occlumency as advanced as possible. Let's have a session."

Harry nodded and seated himself in the other chair in the room. "I'm ready."

"Good! Now, I'm going to begin strengthening slightly the power behind my Legilimency. Unfortunately this will mean you may feel you are not making progress. Rest assured, you will be. It is simply that you have to get used to slowly increasing force until you can withstand even the strongest attacks. The longer you can have the session today, the better. Now, on the count of three I will cast the spell, Ready?"

The young man closed his eyes, did a quick breathing exercise from one of the Occlumency texts, and then gazed steadily at Croaker, who said, "One - two - three - _Legilimens_."

**- - -**

Harry felt a bit bruised after that afternoon of intense training. While he was assured that his mental shields were becoming stronger, it didn't really feel like much when random thoughts kept popping up after what seemed like very little time between the onset of Legilimency and the failure of his barriers.

He went to see Winky.

The house-elf was busy straightening his bed-sheets and said, "You is ought to be coming more quickly, Harry Potter sir! I is not able to get your food without taking it from Hogwarts! You is knowing this, I hopes."

_What?_ _Oh, bugger_, thought Harry. They'd been nicking off Hogwarts all this time? For a frantic moment, Harry wondered if McGonagall would come down on them for it, and then calmed himself down, deciding there was nothing for it but to just not do it anymore. He found a payment draft in a drawer in his desk, and quickly signed off on it. He handed it to Winky, who was pleased and popped away after a last fluff of his pillows, presumably to shop till she dropped.

Meantime... "Dobby!"

That _pop_ thing never got old. "You is calling Dobby, Harry Potter sir?"

"Yes. Could you please take me to my place in Ireland?"

Dubby beamed. "Of course! You grabs my hand, and we is popping there!"

House-elf Apparition was unlike anything he'd ever felt. Instead of the unpleasant squeezing of human Apparition, or the frenetic pace of a Portkey, he was simply moved to a new place. Then again, Harry reasoned, house-elves needed to be good at this or they'd be forever disorienting themselves. _Still, this is brilliant!_ Harry exulted in the lack of any clumsiness as he noticed he was in the still-lit main room under the cupola.

Releasing Dobby's wiry hand, Harry said, "Thank you very much, Dobby. Please go back to work now."

Dobby solemnly disappeared, and Harry made his way past the well-appointed kitchen, which didn't trigger any memories (and nor did the dining room as he passed that), to find a nondescript door set into the wall which terminated at a small washroom. He opened the wooden door, and noticed that the stairway down to the basement was lit.

He called, "Ron? Hermione?"

Oddly, Ron and Hermione weren't downstairs, but instead thundered down the hallway after a minutes' waiting, and Harry noticed they looked a bit flustered. Deciding diplomacy was the better road here, he said, "Hey. Wormtail's down there?"

Ron said, "Yep. Hermione made sure he wouldn't escape no matter what. Go see, it's brilliant."

Harry descended into the basement and noticed a sturdier version of the cage for Remus had been set up, complete with washroom facilities (Harry assumed that a Vanishing bucket counted as acceptable) and a still-sleeping Wormtail was lying on the bar-covered concrete. Harry looked at Hermione, his eyebrows raised. She said, "Even if by some chance he could escape through the concrete, the bars should add some extra difficulty to that. Also, I've laid an anti-Animagus protection over the cage, as in Grimmauld. The tracing potion, whatever it was, is vanishingly weak and I doubt that anyone would be able to trace him here."

Harry decided enough was enough and pointed his wand at Pettigrew. "_Ennervate!_"

Wormtail's eyes flicked around, locking onto Harry as he regained his awareness of his surroundings. Harry said, "Where'd you get the saw?"

The man looked like he was about to speak, and then seemed to decide against it.

"Why were you going after Fred and George?"

Still nothing. Harry remembered his own words: _"He's a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin."_

And Harry well knew the extent to which Gryffindors could carry their bravery.

He pressed on, saying, "What were you planning to do? And where have you been hiding?"

Still no answer.

Harry kicked the cage in frustration, and said, "This is bollocks. This is absolute bollocks. We need Veritaserum and we need it _now_, damn it! That arsehole isn't talking, and I _know_ he's got answers!"

Hermione said, a bit uncertainly, "I can inventory Grimmauld Place again, but..."

Something seemed to snap inside him when he heard what sounded like a muffled snigger from Pettigrew, and he began to see red. Harry paced back and forth swiftly as he ground out, "Fuck it. Fuck. It. All! I'm using that curse from Thistlethwaite."

Over Ron's confused yells and Hermione's sudden gasp, Harry stepped up to the cage, pointed his wand at Pettigrew and bellowed, "_Vomica Cruor_!"

The quite illegal curse elicited a satisfyingly loud howl from Pettigrew. Only Ron grabbing Harry by the shoulders made him stop the spell, and Harry heard, "... mate? Harry? What in all the yards of Merlin's Y-fronts was _that_ all about, anyway!?"

Harry, breathing heavily, not sure when he'd stopped seeing red, said, "Blood-Boiling Hex. Illegal."

Placatingly, Ron said, "Bloody hell, mate. Look, come with us, all right? We'll get Veritaserum, we won't need any more curses. Right, Hermione?"

Sharply, Harry shook off Ron's hands and bit out, "Don't talk to me like that. I don't need a blasted baby-sitter!"

At that moment, Harry saw the hairs on Ron's arms begin to stand up, as though a sudden wave of static electricity went through the room. Before he could process this, he heard a swish behind him and felt a spell coming. Even as he whipped around to shield himself, he suddenly found himself collapsing to the floor amid Hermione's sad voice.

"I'm so dreadfully sorry, Harry."

**- - -**

As Hermione's nonverbal Stunner caused Harry to collapse to the floor, Ron saw what it had cost Hermione in that dreadful moment when he suddenly felt that blaze of power rush across him, making his hairs all stand on end. Hermione's hair was bushier than usual, partly because she was frantically running her hands through her hair, whispering, "_What have I done?_ Ron, Harry's going to hate me for this! You know he will! But—"

Ron's placating tone (falsely, he knew to himself, as he himself was still on edge) worked more effect on Hermione as he soothingly said, "Look, you know and I know Harry was close to being dangerous to himself and us as well as the useless git over there. Oh, _Stupefy_."

Ron's casual spell knocked Pettigrew insensate once more. Blood still dripped from the man's nose, mute testimony to what had probably happened to his insides just a few moments ago.

"Hermione?"

Her only response was to launch herself at him and hug him for all she was worth. Ron put his arms around her still-shaking shoulders and patted her back. "Look, it's like this… Harry's magic is probably going a bit wonky, you know? From being so close to his seventeenth birthday and all. It might not even really be… a problem."

Hermione pulled back, looking at him with those sad brown eyes. She shook her head and said, "Ron, it's not that simple; we talked about this before and there's no ignoring it. Harry's got destructive impulses and he's going to be able to do serious damage if we can't get through to him." She sighed. "Let's just get Harry upstairs and I'll try and get some Veritaserum soon. Then we can safely interrogate Pettigrew."

Ron nodded and released Hermione, and the twosome carefully put Harry in his parents' old bedroom, then retired to separate beds in one of the other rooms.

Though, Ron reflected, what they'd got up to earlier portended different times ahead soon on the bed front.

* * *

Author Note:

Thanks go to **misfiredcanon** for the beta work here. :)


End file.
